


The Great War

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: The Adventures of the Avengers Initiative [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ensemble Cast, Espionage, F/M, Gen, Second Generation Characters, Sequel, WWI AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 73,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2093286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sequel to</i> The Guilded Age. <i>Won't make a lot of sense without reading that first.</i></p><p> <i> In which: time has passed, children have grown, new points of view are seen, the focus shifts, an old sailor finds love, sins of the past are revealed, everything is connected, nothing is what it seems and our authoresses completely rewrite WWI.</i></p><hr/><p>
  <b>Part the First</b>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Then, if you love me, let me sail</i><br/><i>While a vessel dares the deep;</i><br/><i>For the ship’s wife, and the breath of life</i><br/><i>Are the raging gales that sweep;</i><br/><i>And when I’m done with the calm and blast,</i><br/><i>A slide o’er the side, and rest at last.</i><br/><i>-Paul Laurence Dunbar</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Sailor's Song

**Author's Note:**

> We're incapable of writing a stand alone, it seems. This one is set several years after the end of _Guilded Age_ and focuses on Steve as he deals with the world changing around him, his friends aging before his eyes, and a new evil threatening the world.
> 
> Not betaed, edited by Olives and I.
> 
> Enjoy!

_February, 1815_  
 _Boston, Massachusetts_

A ship-of-the-line getting underway was a sight to see— a great bustle of noise and activity. It was Captain Steve Rogers’ favorite and least favorite part of a journey. It brought the excitement of a new adventure, and the ever-present fear something would be missed. You never remembered what you had forgotten until you were in the middle of the ocean.

He had commanded and sailed with this particular crew for nearly four years, and knew them and this ship inside and out. The _USS Adrasteia_ had sailed under a different name when he’d stolen it from the British Navy and sailed it across the Atlantic to be used against them. But it was his ship now— and for the first time, it was sailing out with a load of cargo instead of armaments. The War of 1812 was finally, officially over.

“I just. . . I don’t see why you have to go. The war is over. I thought when the war was over. . .”

He turned to look at the woman standing behind him. “Margaret.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. He didn’t know what she was to him— they’d never really had much time to figure that out, a fact that was almost certainly his fault. But she was gorgeous when she was mad at him. “Don’t Margaret me.”

“I have to earn a living.” An honest living. Margaret did _not_ know about his cache of ill gotten gains acquired while working as a privateer. She didn’t approve of stealing things. Even from the British. “I will be back before summer. And then I promise I will take some time and. . .” 

She raised her eyebrows. She didn’t believe him. He didn’t blame her. Her wealthy father dismissed him as a fisherman’s son. War hero be damned. She’d professed to not care. He was certain if he asked her to marry him, they’d be at the church that afternoon, and she’d be sailing to France with him in the morning.

But _he_ cared. This trip would begin his career as a prosperous merchant. It would be worth the wait. 

She stared him down another moment, then sighed, the fight visibly going out of her. "Before the summer. You promise?"

He tipped her chin up. "I promise you." He took a deep breath. "I will bring you a fancy French hat, and I will court you properly. I might even be convinced to dance."

That got a smile and she smoothed her hands over the front of his jacket. "Good. You know how I feel about broken promises," she added with mock severity. She lifted a hand and touched his jaw. "Be safe, Steve."

"On my honor as a Captain."

When she walked down the gangplank that day, it was the last time he ever saw her.

*

_August, 1892_  
 _Newport, Rhode Island_

He remembered Margaret. He remembered a violent storm. He remembered bitter cold and unbearable dark.

And then he was laying in a cold, smooth, white. . . container of some sort. Perhaps it was a coffin. Perhaps he was dead.

Faces appeared over him. It was three men, and they were oddly dressed. One was wearing a white and blue striped coat that that looked just like the fabric of a dress Margaret had. Another one had some odd looking sideburns and a very uncomfortable looking collar. The third looked rather more like a laborer, at odds with the other two. Perhaps he was a servant.

None of them were speaking. Perhaps he was in France, given the odd dress and container they'd placed him in. God knows what the French did. "Bonjour?" he tried. He didn't know much French.

"I thought he was supposed to be from Boston," said the rough looking one.

"He was," said Sideburns. He was most distinctively British. "He's probably just confused."

Of course. They'd been dying to get him back for years, and now they'd succeeded. That certainly explained the container. He scanned the room he was in. The walls were white tiled, though there were iron bars protruding upwards from the container, attached to a large round object above him. It was ringed by a curved iron bar a curtain was draped from. Likely he could bend one of them easily, though he didn't know if he could break it fast enough to use as a weapon.

He looked at the men. The rough one was armed— _well_ armed from what he could see. He didn't think the other two were. 

"We could at least get him out of the tub," said the third man. He had a distinctly New York accent. He held a hand out to Steve. "Captain, my name is Tony Stark. Do you think you can stand up?"

An excellent gunsmith from New York named Robert Stark had helped him refit the _Adrasteia_. He wondered if they were related.

His head was fuzzy, and he shook it. _Focus_. Steve eyed the rough one. He was pretty sure he'd get stabbed if he tried to get one of the man's knives. He was also fairly certain he could survive that, and then he would have a weapon. 

Or he could try diplomacy. Margaret would want him to be nice. He had promised her he'd come back by summer. So he gingerly took the offered hand, letting the man pull him to his feet.

Which didn't have much purchase on the slick white material. He felt them go, and then heard the the resonant thunk his head made when it hit the very solid side.

*

This time, he woke up in a soft bed. It might have been the softest bed he'd ever laid in. Like it was made from two feet of pure down. Perhaps it was. He opened his eyes. Faces floated over him again. Two beautiful, red-haired women dressed all in white.

Of course. He was dead, and this was heaven.

He had to admit, he didn't know his head would hurt this much, or that he would feel like casting up. But he would definitely take the angels. "You are as beautiful as I imagined," he told them.

The darker haired one arched her brows a little. "Captain Rogers? Are you with us?"

"I am. This is heaven, isn't it?" If he was dead, then he had broken his promise.

They both smiled. "No, I'm afraid this is Rhode Island."

He blinked, and then grinned. "Holy shit. Pardon that, ma'am. Ladies." He wasn't dead. And better yet, he was surprisingly close to home. "How did I get here?" He peered under the blanket for confirmation. "And where are my clothes?"

The women exchanged a glance. The smaller one, with darker hair sat on the bed and spoke quietly. "You were caught in a storm in the arctic. Your ship was trapped in an iceberg and you were frozen. You've. . . you were in the ice a long time."

He looked from one to the other. "How long?"

She obviously didn't want to tell him. But she took a deep breath and replied, "It's 1892. You've been gone almost eighty years."

Was this some sort of attempt at mental torture? At brainwashing? "That's preposterous."

The taller, fairer woman stood up, and walked across the room. "Please look at the ceiling, Captain," she said gently. He looked up—the bed had no bed-hangings—and she pressed a button in the wall. Light illuminated the fixture above him. He had never seen anything like it.

"I know it's hard to believe," the first woman said. "When you're up for it we can show you other proof. I imagine steam ships will be a bit of a shock. You really have been frozen for seventy seven years."

He stared at them for a full minute in silence. Then he said, "Do you have alcohol in the future?"

"As much as you like," said the tall one.

*

_September, 1892_  
 _Boston, Massachusetts_

When Steve he was a young cabin boy, the first time he'd been flogged for an infraction, he'd thought it was the most painful thing he'd ever experienced. He was a frail, weak child, who grew into a frail, weak man. He got beaten and flogged a lot.

Then, at 21, he'd been captured by the British Navy and pressed into their service. He got hit by wood shrapnel during a battle. That had been worse than flogging. Then they took him and locked him in a cell. They'd given him a stone to hold—something of divine or otherworldly origin—which promised to make him big and strong. Nearly indestructible. He just had to hold it long enough. _That_ had been the most painful thing he'd ever experienced.

Now he stood under an oak tree in an old cemetery, wondering if he would need to reassess that scale again.

He'd found his mother and his siblings, even his hated step-father. His friends, his crew. Everyone he'd ever known was under the ground here.

Margaret took the longest to find. She had a different last name. He wouldn't have wanted her to wait for him forever, but he still felt a punch in the gut at another man's name on her headstone. 

_Margaret Carter Pierce_  
 _Born June 5, 1791. Died October 17, 1820_

There was another name below it in tinier print he had to move the weeds to read.

_Elizabeth Pierce_  
 _Born Oct. 17, 1820. Died Oct. 17, 1820_

He sat on the grass, staring at the crooked headstone. She'd married another man, and she'd died delivering a daughter, who did not survive. She hadn't even been thirty. She'd been dead seventy years and he hadn't even known.

That hellish time holding the stone, feeling as though his body was about to explode as it stretched to a new shape. . . how had he ever thought that was pain?

He didn't know how long he sat there before he heard the crunch of footsteps in the fall leaves that seemed to cover the cemetery. He knew it was Romanova and that he'd only heard her because she let him. She stood next to him a moment, reading the stone and the story he had just discovered. Then she crouched beside him and touched his arm lightly, with the tips of her fingers.

Romanova and Barton had been his guides in the strange new world he found himself in. Both of them the rough kind of people he was used to. Neither prone to asking questions or prying. They gave him the space to sort himself out. But they had a way of making sure he knew they were there if he needed them.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked finally.

"Of course." She didn't look at him, just straight ahead, leaving him privacy.

"Do you think Stark's offer of a place to live here is Boston is sincere? And without strings?"

She nodded. "Stark is . . . a lot of things. But he has his own sense of honor. And he doesn't like ultimatums. If he offered it, he meant it and you can trust him."

He nodded. Then he looked at her, hoping she'd understand. "I just. . . I'd like to be alone for a while. Will your people leave me be?"

She glanced over her shoulder to where he knew Barton was waiting with the carriage. "Between us, Stark, and Coulson we'll make sure of it."

He nodded. "Thank you." She put her hand on his shoulder and went back to the carriage.

*

It would be be more than a year before she knocked on his door again. She asked him for help finding the stone that had made him what he was. Then she asked him to help save the world.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _The Last Viking Maid_


	2. The Last Viking Maid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention, _The Great War_ will post Wednesdays and Saturdays.

_April, 1913_   
_New York City_

He had not expected it, but Steve loved Manhattan. It was different from anything he'd ever known. Though Boston had plenty of bustle, most of his life had been spent at sea, in close quarters, surrounded by miles and miles of nothing. There was something appealing about this dense island of a city. 

And he never got tired of looking at the skyscrapers.

The tallest building in Boston—and in the United States—when he'd gone under was the Park Street Church. It was maybe 200 feet at the spire. He knew there were much taller cathedrals in Europe, but generally four or five stories was as tall as buildings got.

The one he worked in was fifty-five stories, and 750 feet tall. For a time, Stark Tower had been the tallest building in the world. It had been superseded by the Woolworth Building just this year. Stark had been grumbling about putting a larger spire on the top to take his title back.

Skyscrapers were possible because of steel skeletons, and elevators. The latter, no matter how many assurances of their safety he received, did not sit well. He just didn't like them. So he began every morning by climbing 49 flights of stairs.

This particular morning, a slender, redheaded girl was waiting for him at the top with a cup of coffee. "She would like to see you," she told him as he took the coffee.

Anja Barton, daughter of two of Steve's best friends, worked part time for their organization. He suspected she'd end up in the field someday, despite her parents’ objections. The girl was too smart, too ambitious, and too good to be kept behind a desk forever. Right now, she wasn't even eighteen and was willing to be her mother's secretary a bit longer.

"Thank you for the coffee." They crossed the main lobby, and went past the large typing pool to the internal stairs connecting the five floors the Avengers Initiative occupied. The very top floor was privately retained by the Stark family. Speaking of. . . "When you have a chance, can you inform Mr. Stark that he has until lunch to return my shield or I'm going to come get it myself. Posting that robot at the top of the stairs won't help."

"He says he has one more test he wants to run on it. Lunch should be doable. And he prefers the term automaton."

That made him smile. "It's like you know what I'm going to ask before I do."

She tossed him a smile that made her look just like her mother. "Stark wrangling is at the top of my list of responsibilities. Up there with managing the typing pool and making sure Mom eats."

Sometimes he still had trouble not seeing the gangly little girl who called him Uncle Cap and was constantly asking if she could try hitting his shield with random objects. "Shouldn't you be having one of those debutante ball things? Aren't you about that age?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Did Daddy put you up to that?"

That made him stop walking and look at her. "Your father wants you to have a deb ball? Mr. Complained-Every-Time-A-Mission-Required-A-Tie?"

She sighed. "He has the unhealthy urge to see his little girl in ribbons and frills one more time. Mom has said it's up to me, Mr. Stark has offered to pay for it, and Daddy is using all his many resources to convince me."

"Come to think of it, he did mention it to me off-hand a while back."

She groaned and they started walking again. "I don't want a ball. I've never been to a ball I actually enjoyed and I would hate one _about_ me even more."

"Are you looking for a husband?" he asked her.

"No," she said immediately. 

"Then don't do it. That's what those things are for, isn't? Go do something useful. Go to college, go live in Paris, write a novel. Life is short."

She looked at him in surprise, then grinned and bumped his shoulder. "Thank you, Uncle Cap."

He smiled back. "And go get a big frilly dress and have your photograph taken in it for your father." Photography was up there with skyscrapers on Steve's list of amazing modern marvels.

"That's probably a good idea." They reached Nat's office and she rapped on the door before opening it. "Rogers is here."

"Good morning, Natasha." Her office had a distractingly amazing view.

She smiled and gestured for him to come in. "You too, Anja," she called before the other woman could disappear.

Steve saw the flicker of surprise cross Anja's face, but she followed him into the office, closing the door behind her.

Nat sat behind a large wooden desk, a panoramic view of the city behind her. Steve wasn't entirely sure of her age, but knew it had to be somewhere close to fifty. She didn't look a day of it, though, save for the smile lines at her eyes and the way her hair was starting to lighten into ashy strawberry blonde. Somedays he thought she was as immortal as him.

"Have a seat," she told them. When he sank into the leather chair facing hers she passed a paper across the desk. He picked it up to find it was a flyer for a carnival side show.

It advertised a number of acts, with the largest touting 'The World's Strongest Woman'. He looked up at Nat and raised an eyebrow.

"As you know, we keep an eye out for people or events that might be . . . extraordinary. I've had an eye on this woman for a few months. They bill her as Helga, the last Viking maid. Pictures of her show her to be tall, but not muscular. However, we have verified reports of her lifting several hundred pounds over her head. And I've been unable to find out her real name or any history on her."

He studied it. "Interesting. You coming for this? It needs a woman. I think Syn is traveling."

Nat gave a little smile. "Actually, I'm giving you a new agent. Untested, this will be her first field experience. I know you don't do training, normally, but there's no one I'd trust more for this one." She looked over at Anja pointedly.

The younger woman was sitting stock straight in her chair. "Really?"

"Really."

That made Steve smile. "This is probably better than a deb ball," he commented, as Anja shot out of her chair so she could hug her mother.

Nat kissed Anja's hair, hugging her tight a moment. "Listen. Steve is in charge, as your uncle and your CO. You listen to him, all right?" Anja nodded frantically. "I want you two on a train to Chicago tomorrow to catch the carnival before it leaves Illinois. Go talk to Alice about transport while I go over details with the Cap."

"Thank you, Mama," she said softy, giving her another tight hug before straightening. She gave Steve a little salute and managed to walk out of the room in a calm, sedate manner.

Nat watched her go and sighed. "That was worth sleeping on the couch."

Steve didn't comment on that part. Part of him had always been curious about the Bartons' private politics. Once, they'd all worked—sort of—for a British organization called Shield. Seven years ago, Natasha had been asked by the US president to build a similar organization here. There had been any number of eyebrows raised. A running joke circulated that the telegram had been addressed to her because someone had assumed she was the secretary, and by the time they all arrived in Washington she had them all so organized no one dared question it. 

She ran their organization with the skill of Charlemagne. Still, it had to be strange working for one's own wife. 

"I was ten years old when I went to sea," Steve said.

"Clint has always been adamant about letting her and Greg be 'normal.' But this is what she claims to want. Forbidding her will only make her want it more." She sighed again and, for a moment, looked every bit her age. Then she smiled and it softened again. "I don't expect this to be particularly dangerous, but take good care of her, okay?"

"On my honor as a sailor," he said with a smile.

"Thank you. As for the viking." She gestured at the flier. "I don't need to recruit her. Just make sure she's not a threat."

He nodded. "I'll send for backup if she seems like real trouble."

"I trust your judgment." She smiled widely. "Enjoy the circus."

*

Jorunn, daughter of Birgir, hadn't decided what she thought of working for the circus. The other members of the sideshow were nice enough. They read her "leave me the hell alone" body language very well and did so, to her delight. Her manager, Art, was kind of slimy and had dubbed her Helga on the posters, because apparently that was the only Viking name anyone knew. He also made her play up her accent and do her hair in braids. It was ridiculous, but show business had never been her strong suit. As long as he kept his hands to himself she grit her teeth and went along with it.

Funnel cake was really good, though. That made up a lot of things.

She had spent the afternoon lifting weights and flexing in the sideshow tent. It was after dark now, the families and kids had gone home, and it was mostly men. Rough edged workers and farmers looking for a show. Which meant sex and violence.

Some things never changed, even in three hundred years.  
 She sat in her tent, munching a funnel cake, waiting for Art to come get her and start the fights.

He stuck his over-Brilliantined head into her tent, right on time. "Great crowd tonight. Could you show a little more leg this time?"

Her fighting attire was a long standing argument between them. She wanted to wear men’s clothes, slacks and an undershirt, for comfort and ease of movement. Art wanted her to wear a short skirt and lederhosen. Explanations of the difference between Germany and Norway had fallen on deaf ears. Finally, she'd told him she'd wear a skirt in the ring when he did and they'd compromised on shorts and the ridiculous suspenders. Still, the war of her clothing raged on.

" _Ja_ , I'll just hem my shorts in the next two minutes." He looked perplexed and she waved him off, shoving the last of the funnel cake in her mouth and brushing her fingertips off.

The crowd cheered for her as she entered the ring. They were the usual crowd—long on facial hair, short on bathing. Not as gross as the miners up in the Klondike, granted. They had served as a daily reminder that there was no amount of money that could convince her to ever be a whore. She'd been the only woman in a hundred miles at one point. A _great_ deal of money had been offered.

The good-looking man stood out. Blond, great features, and the sort of build people made statues of. He was clean, and clean-cut. He didn't fit. Neither did the red-haired woman next to him. She was just barely not a girl. Too old to be his daughter. Too young for this crowd, too young to be his woman. Not that that ever mattered to men.

She wanted to bait him into fighting her just so she could punch him in the face. Jo didn’t trust things that didn't fit.

Her first opponent was the typical sort. Dark, average height, and stocky. Three days growth on his chin and half a bottle of whiskey on his breath. He stepped in the ring opposite her and gave her a lecherous grin. Oh, good. He was one of those who thought he'd get to cop a feel once he beat her. This would be fun, then.

She let him get in the first punch. She liked to let them get a hit or two in. Partly for show and partly to judge how hard to hit back. She didn't like these men. Didn't like most people, to be honest. But she didn't dislike them enough to actually break skulls or crush ribs. Besides, injuries were bad for business.

Whiskey Breath started with a left hook to her jaw. She let her head snap to the side, just to make him feel good. The crowd roared and he laughed. Decent hit, no form, but he'd put his weight behind it and followed through. This was a man who'd been in a bar fight or five. She looked back at him, grinned, and slammed a fist into his nose.

He staggered back, and then roared in anger, and came at her in rage. Which meant whatever form he had possessed was now gone, and he was flailing artlessly. And it also meant he was the kind of man who'd beat the shit out of his wife because she burned toast.

He didn't connect another hit on her. She dragged out the fight the best she could, Art got huffy when she downed them too fast. But patience had never been her favorite virtue. So she beat Whiskey Breath soundly and dumped him unceremoniously out of the ring. The crowd was a blend of cheers and boos as she went back to her corner to drink some water.

She glanced over at the good-looking man, who was now talking to Art. The woman/girl was standing near his side, listening, her hand on his sleeve. One of the drunker, less-clean crowd members wandered near her, and reached out with a clear intent to put his hand where he shouldn't. The redhead glanced at him, reached out and grabbed his thumb, bending his hand back until he squeaked in pain. She arched an eyebrow at him, and then turned back to the conversation with Art.

Jo choked on her water a little. That was impressive, but the pair of them really didn't fit. Money was now exchanging hands and the good-looking guy was climbing into the ring. Jo put her water down, eyeing him, clenching and unclenching her hands. Little warning bells were going off in her head. Nothing she could have put to words. Just three hundred years of instinct telling her something was off.

He smiled at her. It was a very earnest smile. He looked like a nice man. He was built and moved like a man who spoke with his fists. He smiled at her like one who didn't like stepping on spiders. It didn't fit. "Hello," he said. "I'm Steve."

She tried to remember if any of them had ever introduced themselves before. Someone must have, but at the moment she couldn't clearly remember. She definitely shouldn't introduce herself in return, and if she did she should use her ridiculous stage name. Instead, she heard herself say quietly, "I'm Jo."

The smile spread into a grin and reached his eyes. He was _distractingly_ good looking. She'd have to avoid hitting his face. "That's better than Helga," he replied. He put his fists up. "Ladies first."

She took a long, deep breath through her nose to focus and lifted her own fists. If she avoided the face she'd have to focus on the body hits. He looked to be solid muscle, so she could probably let loose a bit before he'd feel anything. She really didn't want to mess up that face. She danced forward, staying on the balls of her feet, and struck at him.

He ducked it, and he moved so fast she barely saw it. She had never seen anyone move like that. The crowd reacted, but she barely heard them. She swung again and he dodged again. He punched, but he telegraphed it a mile away, letting her dodge easily. He wasn't going to hit her. Wasn't even going to try.

There had been a time—several times—that she'd thought she couldn't feel anymore. That emotions were something that just got worn out from too much abuse. But every so often one snuck through. Right now, she was angry. She didn't even know why, not really. He was just too much. Too handsome, too nice. Too out of place. He didn't fit, goddammit.

With that thought blaring in her mind she lifted a fist and aimed it right for his face.

He _caught_ her fist. Not only should that be impossible for sheer speed, but the force should have broken his hand. Maybe his wrist, too. Then it would have crashed backward to break his nose or his jaw.

The bastard knew it, too. She could see it on his face.

It seemed like the crowd went silent. Either that or the blood was roaring in her ears too loud for her to hear anything else. She let her hand drop and took a step away from him. Then she turned and, for the first time in her very long life, climbed out of the ring before the fight was over.

She could hear Art yelling for her, but he knew better then to chase her, or—God help him—grab at her. She was pretty sure the good-looking guy would be on her heels, though, and she really wasn't sure if she wanted to talk to him or not.

He didn't grab her, just followed her until she gave up and turned. The redhead was with him, huffing and puffing because both Jo and Steve clearly walked far faster than she did. They were out in the field behind the tents, lit by the moon and the lanterns that lined the midway.

Jo stared at them a moment, then asked, "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Captain Steven Rogers," he said. He sighed a little. "Captain America. This is Anja Barton. We're from the Avengers Initiative."

She looked from one to the other. She had heard of the Avengers after the earthquake in '06. They'd made every paper in the country. The girl would have been a child then, but she thought he looked familiar. Maybe he'd been in a picture or two. His name however. . . "Captain America? From the War of 1812?"

"The very same," he said with a smile. "We are always interesting meeting extraordinary people. And you are, aren't you? Extraordinary."

She had no idea how to answer that. By the strict definition of "out of the ordinary" she supposed she was. But most of the time she still felt like the quiet village girl far out of her depth. Most of the time she just wanted to be left alone. "You look good for a hundred and thirty year old dead man."

"For a while I was frozen in ice. Though I also age very slowly." He was studying her. "Are you of Asgard?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. I'm not a god." No harm in a little bit of the truth. The stone couldn't get any more lost. "My family had a magic stone. No one really knew what it did. Then I touched it. That was three hundred years ago."

Steve looked stunned. "It's called the Bride Stone. It _makes_ you Asgardian. Effectively."

Three hundred years of mystery explained in a few sentences. Even she had to admit it was a little anticlimactic. "Is that where you came from?"

"The Stone, not Asgard. Though it does not generally work very well on men."

"Huh. I always wondered why they didn't make an army. When I heard about you I suspected. . . but you died. And no more came." And, frankly, at that point she hadn’t cared anymore.

"Most subjects it either didn't work, or it killed them. I was the only survivor." He frowned. "You're where they got the stone from?"

An echo of old pain and rage flickered through her. She felt her hands clench and saw Anja tense as if for a fight. Jo forced her shoulders to relax. "I'm who they _stole_ if from," she spat.

"Why does that not surprise me?" Steve mused. "They stole me, personally, from the US Navy. Then they did this. Then I stole the stone from them, and also their best warship." He shook his head. "I was not fond of them. But we are not them, I promise."

"You have the stone back?"

"It was sent back to Asgard," Anja piped up. "Where it came from."

Jo nodded. "Probably be best place for it." One less thing to worry about. That particular failure wouldn't come back to haunt her again. She looked at Steve. "What do you want?"

"To see if you were what we thought. And to see if you'd like a new job."

Her brows arched. "With you?" Steve nodded and Anja gave an eager little smile. "What happens if I say no?" she asked, tense again.

He was still, and she could see him considering her. "Nothing, as long as you don't make trouble."

She actually smiled at that, though there was little humor in it. "For three hundred years all I've done is try to avoid trouble. You won't hear a peep from me. And I've no interest in joining your little club."

"But—” Anja started, before he turned and gave her a look.

When he looked back to her, Jo inclined her head. "Sorry you wasted a trip. Good fight, though." She turned an started walking away again. "Try the funnel cake. It's delicious."

"I will." He paused then added, "We're on the 49th floor of the Stark Tower in New York City. If you ever change your mind."

She stopped a moment. Forty nine stories. The world really did keep moving. She raised a hand in acknowledgement, then kept walking to her tent.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Two Old People on a Train Talk About the Past, Death, and How Everything is Different Now_


	3. Two Old People on a Train Talk About the Past, Death, and How Everything is Different Now

"So that's it? We're just going home?" Anja was jogging again to keep up with him. 

"Yes," Steve replied. "We've met her. She's a threat of neither crime nor publicity, and isn't interested. That's what we do."

"But she's like you! She's strong and she's going to live thousands of years. Plus she had the stone before the guys who changed you. Don't you want to have mom talk to her? Or even Dr. Banner. She's three hundred years old and we're just gonna leave her in a carnival?!"

"Banner doesn't do recruitment. Your mother's snake-charming doesn't work on women nearly as well as men—and certainly not one that cynical."

Anja scowled and glanced back over her shoulder a moment. "I bet she has some interesting stories." She huffed out a breath and turned back. "Are we getting funnel cake?"

"I will get you some funnel cake," he replied.

"Might as well get something out of this."

He put an arm around her shoulder. "Would you like me to win you a prize at the midway?"

For a moment, she scrunched her face up and he thought he was going to get a lecture about her not being a child. But then she said, "The milk jug booth had really big stuffed teddy bears."

He got her funnel cake, and a medium sized teddy bear, lest it require it’s own seat for the train home.

"You know Daddy used to tell me he was in the circus," Anja said.

That made Steve laugh. Her father was one of the best archers in the world, who'd done a turn as an assassin and before that a very famous train robber. He was pretty sure there had been no circus. "Parents lie," he replied. "Nobody wants their children to know about the bad things they've done."

"Mom told me the truth when I got older. I realized once that she never lied to me, just gave me age appropriate versions of whatever the truth was." She hugged her bear, resting her chin on it. "When I asked her why, she told me that all anyone ever did when she was a child was lie to her. So when I was born she swore she never would. She also admitted the promise came back to haunt her when Greg hit the inevitable 'why?' stage."

"You asked why a lot, too." He looked down at her. "There isn’t always a why. It isn't always neat."

She frowned and glanced back at the boxing tent. They were on their way out of the carnival. "I know. I just don't see why she wouldn't at least try."

"Some people prefer to be alone, I suppose."

"That's a long time to be alone. Watching everybody else die. At least you have the Asgardians."

He couldn’t disagree with that. Everyone he'd known in his previous life was dead. He was 130 years old. The modern world fascinated and terrified him sometimes. He was well aware of the time that had passed. But it had passed suddenly, in a single blow. He didn't really contemplate the next hundred and thirty years. In 2013, say, all of his friends and their children and maybe their grandchildren would all be dead. And he would still be there, looking the same, still at the very tip of the iceberg of his long life.

Anja seemed to sense his sudden turn of thought, because she slid her arm though his and tucked close to his side. She was a comfort and a physical reminder of how much time had already passed. The woman, Jo, had lived twice as long as him and been awake for every day of it. No wonder she was cynical. How many friends had she seen die? How long had it taken her to decide she didn't want to have friends anymore?

When they got back to the hotel, he walked Anja to her room. "Can I trust you to bolt the door and not make trouble?"

"Define trouble."

"Anja Grace Barton."

She held up her hands. "I'll be good. Why? Are you going back out?"

"I am, but it's personal. I need you to stay here."

She shrugged and snapped him a little salute. "My word as a Barton. I won't leave the room unless it's on fire."

"An important part of working in the field is following orders. I am trusting you. Don't let me down, as there is not likely to be a second chance."

Anyone else probably would have been a bit insulted by now, but he was pretty sure Anja knew her own reputation. She unlocked her door and opened it, before turning back. "I promise, Cap. Door closed and bolted. You can trust me."

He stood in the hall and waited until he heard the locks. Then he went downstairs, and headed back out to the circus.

It was dark and mostly empty of visitors by the time he got back. He saw a few men lingering about, obviously hoping for some more adult entertainment. Steve gave them a wide berth, heading to the back where the entertainers' tents were. There was a bonfire there, and a crowd of performers and side show barkers were gathered around it, talking and laughing.

He spotted Jo off to one side, outside the ring of people, barely touched by the firelight. She'd changed out of her ridiculous boxing outfit, now in a simple skirt and men's shirt that looked like it was older then Anja and more mending then original fabric. She spotted him as he strolled over and stood in one smooth motion, walking to meet him. "Come back for your winnings?" she asked, a faint trace of teasing in her tone.

Steve shrugged. "I probably technically cheated." He looked down. "I came to talk to you."

She tilted her head, studying him. "This about your Avengers again? I said no and meant it."

"No. This is something. . . personal."

She blinked at him. "Well. I'm flattered. But not for sale."

"I am not propositioning you." He was a little offended—he did not just solicit sex from random women. "I have manners."

By the way she ducked her head he thought she might be embarrassed. "Sorry. My last few decades have not been spent around people with manners." She glanced back at the crowd by the fire and he realized they had an audience. Jo shook her head and made a face. "Come on. Walk with me. Tell me what you wanted to talk about."

He followed her, until they were out of earshot of the crowd. "I was wondering if you'd like to meet some people who are like us."

She glanced up at him. "You said you were the only survivor."

"Of the experiments, yes. You may remember Thor and Loki, two of the more flamboyantly visible members of my team. They're from Asgard. Thor is heir to the throne. Loki is being exiled for trying to steal the throne. It's a long story. They both have wives and children. Thor's wife actually used the stone as intended—it was created a thousand years ago to allow Asgardian warriors to bring home war brides. Like us, she was once. . .normal."

They walked in silence for a moment. The moon was almost full, but it was still too dim for him to read her expression. "Why did you come back to tell me this? What exactly are you offering?"

"I thought you might like to meet some people who will still be around in another century."

He watched that hit her. The way her shoulders hunched and her hands fisted. Anja was right, this woman must have a lot of stories. He would have bet most of them didn't have happy endings. That was the moment he was sure he'd been right to come. 

She stopped, peering up at the sky. He stopped and waited silently, letting her mull it over. Finally she said, "I'll think about it," in her soft, singsongy accent. 

"We're at the Holgate Hotel in Chicago," he said. "Train leaves at 11 tomorrow. After that, you can find me in New York."

She nodded, still looking up at the stars, then glanced at him. "Thank you."

He tipped his hat. "I will take my leave, then. Goodnight, Jo. I hope to see you again." She nodded again, but didn't respond. He swore he could feel her gaze on him as he walked away.

*

The next morning, they got to the train station early. Steve liked being early. And, to be honest. . . he really kind of loved the trains. Natasha had told him once that obsession with trains was a phase all little boys went through. There had been no trains in his boyhood. Yet here they were, ever-present in his adulthood. They were ordinary, and perhaps even slow compared to newer things like flight. But Steve found them and their ability to connect this vast country amazing. He even loved the sound, and the billowing steam.

Today, however, he was more interested in watching the crowd on the platform than the incoming train. She would probably need some time to think about it. But he really, really hoped she'd come.

It was the first time in the twenty years since he'd been thawed he'd met a pretty girl and not thought about the utter impossibility of their timescales.

Anja had already boarded. She liked to get settled; said she'd inherited her dad's desire to nest. Steve should get on the train. Just five more minutes.

He had two minutes left when he spotted her, and even then it took him a moment to recognize her. Gone were the simple, ill-fitting, vaguely masculine clothes. She had on a crisp, well tailored blue and black jacket and skirt that hugged her hips and waist. It had been easy to see she had curves the night before, but somehow, in what had to be a fantastic corset and a very expensive outfit, they were even better. Her pale hair was done in a simple bun underneath a hat with a feather that bordered on ridiculous. She was dragging a trunk behind her and had a bag with mesh sides dangling from the other hand.

She stopped and scanned the crowd and he lifted a hand to get her attention. She spotted him and slowly gave a small, shy smile before heading towards him. "You said eleven o'clock, _ja_?"

He grinned at her. He had a feeling it was a big, stupid grin—but she seemed like someone who would respect his dignity, and no one else was watching. Then he shook himself, and snapped his fingers for a porter. "Take these to the baggage car, please. First class, name's Rogers."

When the porter reached for the bag she dodged him. "Just the trunk, thank you."

The man frowned, but went off with the trunk. Steven inclined his head. "This way."

She followed him, taking his hand when he offered to help her up the steps into the car. As she walked past he glanced at the bag and caught a glimpse of iridescent green eyes behind the mesh. "Our compartment is just down here," he told her. 'Is that cat?"

She glanced down at the bag, then gave him a crooked smile. "It is. And you should show her respect. She's older then you." She headed down the aisle to the compartment he'd indicated. 

He knocked on the door, and then opened it. "You have an immortal cat?"

"I do." She stepped inside the compartment and took a seat. "It was not intentional," she added, unzipping the top of the bag. After a moment the head of the largest cat Steve had ever seen popped up to sniff the air.

Anja looked up from her book. "You changed your mind!"

"She's just coming to meet the Asgardians."

Anja sighed a little. "That's a very pretty cat."

"Thank you." Jo reached down to pet its head. She murmured to it in what Steve assumed was Norwegian until it slunk out of the bag. It was the size of a terrier, with long fur a blend of orange, black and white. It sniffed Anja, then him, then made a squawking noise at Jo before slinking beneath her seat. "Tyv has an attitude problem," Jo explained.

"I've never seen a cat that big," Anja said.

"We grow them large in Norway," Jo told her. "Tyv was a ship's cat when I travelled from Bergen to London in the 1700s. She decided my bunk was more comfortable then the hold and I found her curled up in my things, using the stone as a pillow. I gave the captain some coin for her and she's been with me ever since."

"We had no idea the stone worked on non humans," Steve said. "That's pretty funny."

Jo smiled at him, ever-so-slightly. "I've found life can be quite full of surprises."

He smiled back. "I enjoy them more as they get rarer."

*

The train was in Ohio and Jo was still asking herself what on earth she was doing.

It had been a long, sleepless night trying to decide what to do. She told herself she was happy with the carnival. Or, if not happy, then content enough. It was money and movement and the joy of not having to think about what to do with herself. At least for a while. Her reasons to stay were few, but valid. Her reasons to go, well, they were far less logical.

It wasn't that she was lonely. She'd been alone so long she didn't know any other way to be. If winter in the Klondike hadn't made her lonely, nothing would. She had Tyv. She had the other carnies. She had her memories. She didn't need some man with blue eyes and an earnest smile rescuing her from her poor sad life. She was fine.

In the end, it had been her memories that made her start packing. Because remembering meant thinking of Mats. And Mats would have told her to go. He'd been a voice in the back of her mind for centuries now. After losing the stone she'd ignored it a long while, unwilling to risk getting hurt again. But when she'd come down from the snow she'd made a promise to try to listen to it again. And Mats would have told her to go.  
 So, here she was. Sitting in the first class compartment of a train, Tyv curled in a ball on her lap. Anja had gone to the dining car, claiming restlessness. Jo had tried to read on and off, but found herself watching the scenery pass out the window, getting lost in her thoughts.

"How did you end up with it?" He asked from across the cabin.

She jumped a little and looked over at him. "With what?"

He'd put the little notebook he'd been writing in down to look at her. "The stone. You're not old enough to have gotten it from the Asgardians."

"Oh. You know, I don't know, exactly." she shifted, careful not to disturb the cat in her lap. "It was a family heirloom. Lived in a box, in a bag, under the floor of the cabin i was born in. My father said that our ancestor had been a priest of Odin and had been given the stone as a reward. I was told never to touch it."

"And all those generations no one did?"

"Apparently not. I suppose early on they must have known what it really did and protected it. Then with time the story got diluted. You said it killed the other men they tried it on. If any of my ancestors didn't listen I imagine they learned the lesson the hard way."

"And women are generally less stupid about that sort of thing." He grinned when she laughed. "Well, they are."

She shrugged. "Probably true. I never had any urge to poke it. There's no upside to messing with things you don't understand."

"So it was an accident?"

Jo stroked Tyv's back, fur silky beneath her fingers. "Very much so. There was a war—no, that's overstating it. There was a pissing contest between Norway and Sweden. My father was conscripted into the army and was killed. I couldn't support myself and the area still wasn't entirely stable, so I left. Didn't really have space for the box so I just took the stone and tucked it in my clothes."

"Hello, immortality."

She laughed again. "Yes. Didn't realize anything was different until a few weeks later when a drunk tried to cop a feel at a tavern I'd found work at. I sent him through a wall when I punched him."

"I was weak," he told her. "Scrawny kid, scrawny man. Suddenly having strength. . . that was an experience."

It was hard to reconcile the man before her with someone who could be described as scrawny. She could sympathize, though. "It was an experience," she agreed. "Being able to defend myself."

"I was afraid I'd turn into a jerk. But I guess who you are is more fixed than people think."

"We're defined by our memories," she said, still playing with Tyv's fur. "As long as you remember what it was to be weak you don't take being strong for granted."

"I'm still disappointed you left the fight," he told her.

She thought she might have blushed a bit. "You surprised me," she protested.

He shifted a little, turning his body toward her. He wasn't a giant man—she'd fought bigger, burlier ones. Men built like trees. His proportions were not threatening. They were just . . . perfect. Like he'd been made by a sculptor. "Haven't you ever wanted to fight someone that was a challenge?"

The thought of it, the way he said it, sent an odd frisson of heat through her. She leaned towards him a little. "Are you offering a rematch?"

He shrugged. "Surely we have the time."

She chuckled. He'd made her smile and laugh more in the last few hours then she had in the last decade. "That we do. I'd be happy to kick your ass any time you like." She stopped and bit her lip. "I apologize. No manners."

"We might be an even match, you and I." She could see him looking her up and down. "Jane—Thor's wife—has no fighting skill. The Asgardians are all probably too strong."

"I learned all my fighting skill the hard way," she told him. "The world was much rougher when I was young."

That brought a rueful smile to his face. "Adapting to this society has been. . .an experience."

That had to be an understatement. "Living through it isn't fun, either. Though I do tend to go hide from society for years at a time, which leads to constant culture shocks." 

"Hiding sounds very appealing." He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. The movement made Tyv lift her head to look. "I hid in my house for a couple of years, but that's not the same. Where do you go?"

She tipped her head back, remembering. "I lived on a boat off the coast of Wales for a while. Raised sheep in Scotland. I came to America after losing the stone and spent some time on the east coast. After the war between the states I started following the gold strikes. Most recently was six years in the Klondike. That was nice. Reminded me of Norway with all the snow and the midnight sun."

"Of all the things I missed, I think the Civil War throws me the most. We fought an entire war against ourselves. In the world I came from that would have seemed impossible."

Jo shifted again, which was apparently too much for Tyv, who slipped off her lap to settle on the floor and groom. Jo took the opportunity to stretch her legs out. "It was terrible," she said. "I worked for the North, running messages between battlefields. Before that, I helped smuggle slaves from the south to the north. Got shot a few times for my troubles." She rubbed her ribs idly at the memory. "Ugly business, the whole thing."

"All war is ugly," he replied.

She inclined her head. "Agreed."

Tyv had decided to wander over and sniff his leg. "Any luck with the gold?"

She couldn't help the slow smile that curved her mouth. "Oh, yes."

That made him smile back. "Glad I'm not the only one socking treasure away for the future."

"Well, it's going to be a very long future, so it makes sense." She fiddled with a button on her jacket. "I've been poor and hungry. Seems worth the effort to make sure it doesn't happen again." she glanced at him. "We can't starve to death, by the way. Though hunger gets very unpleasant."

"Apparently we don't freeze to death, either."

"I spend a lot of time in the snow, that's actually reassuring," she told him, laughing a little. She paused. "We should compare notes. Between us we've probably been hit with everything."

"I can hold my breath for five or ten minutes, I think. Definitely been shot. I've been shot a lot, actually. I do bleed, though. I suppose I could bleed out."

Belatedly, she realized this had been a terrible topic of conversation to begin. Still, in the interest of honesty, she said softly, "No. You can't. You pass out and wake up a few hours later."

He looked up. "That's actually very useful information to know." He leaned down to offer his hand to Tyv to sniff, as she'd wandered close enough. "Though we are not immortal."

Jo watched her cat sniff and then hesitantly rub Steve's hand. "I know I age. I was an adolescent when I left home and look older than that now. And she was barely out of kitten-hood when I met her. Her paws were enormous."

"The Asgardians are capable of killing each other," he said. "So certainly you'd think they could kill us. They do age. They live about 5,000 years." 

Five thousand years. It was too big to comprehend. Three hundred years and she'd almost gone mad a time or two. She had no idea how she would survive more than ten times that. She blew out a breath, suddenly grateful she'd decided to come. "That's a very long time," was all she said.

"It's longer than I even understand. I wonder if some day I'll want to go live up there. Live on that timescale."

She tipped her head back and looked at the ceiling of the compartment. "The world has changed so much since I was a girl. The way we travel, the way we communicate. Every part of life is different. I think some day, centuries from now, the world will be unrecognizable as home anymore. If that happens it might be nice to have somewhere else to go."

"I could probably sneak us in. I do know the royal family."

She laughed a little. If he kept this up it might even start feeling natural again. "You may have to. They may not like me."

He grinned at her. It was charming, but it was clearly sincere. "I can't imagine why they wouldn't."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _A Cat May Look at a King. Or a Hero. Or a God_


	4. A Cat May Look at a King. Or a Hero. Or a God.

Sleeping was a little uncomfortable. Steve didn't really fit well in a train bunk, and on top of that Jo's cat decided that his head was the most desirable surface to sleep upon. He nearly suffocated.

They rolled into New York in the morning. Jo got the cat back into its bag, and they headed down the platform to collect their baggage. "I'm just going to flag a cab down once—” He started to say, before Anja cut him off.

"Daddy said he'd meet the train. Oh, there he is!" She bounced on her toes and waved. The way she swung back and forth between woman and little girl amused the hell out of Steve. He looked over his shoulder to see Clint Barton strolling towards them. All in black, with a cowboy hat on. He wasn't ageless the way his wife was, but silver hair only served to make him look more sinister. People moved out of his way.

The girl in ringlets and a ruffled yellow dress throwing herself at him ruined the effect quite a bit.

He heard Jo come up next to him. "Little girls and their Daddies," she said. "That has not changed in three hundred years."

"You said you followed the gold strikes. Did you ever hear the legend of the man who robbed a train full of gold coins from Wells Fargo with a bow and arrow?"

Her brow furrowed. "That does ring a bell, yeah. In the mid eighties?"

"I believe so. That's him." He gestured towards Barton. "We seem to like hiring people who steal things."

She titled her head, studying Barton in a new light. "Well, it's a particular type of person. Reckless, quick on your feet." She tilted her head the other way. "I've never stolen anything of interest."

"I stole a warship. And a lot cargo from a lot of ships. A _lot_." Funny he was telling her that. It wasn't something he usually did.

The look she gave him was worth it, though. "Were you a pirate?"

"I was a _privateer_. There's a difference."

Her nose wrinkled when she smiled. He found that too endearing for words. "I'll just call you Viking, _ja_?"

"I can live with that."

Barton ambled over with Anja. "I'm going to take her home, you need a lift?

"If you wouldn't mind dropping us off at the Tower, that would be perfect," Steve replied.

Jo looked over at him. "That's your headquarters?"

"It is." He turned and picked up her trunk.

"I'm not going there," she said in the clipped, cold voice she'd used when they first met.

He frowned down at her. "What?"

Her entire posture had changed, straightening and stiffening. She looked dead calm, but he could see her pulse fluttering wildly in her throat. "Last time I followed a man into the office of a shadowy organization very bad things happened to me."

Surprised, Steve opened his mouth to argue with her, perhaps to tell her that their organization was run by a woman. But she looked like she might hyperventilate, and then Barton put a hand on his arm. "You don't have to go anywhere," the other man said. "We skipped the introductions, by the way. I'm Clint, I'm Anja's father." He took his hat off. "Try taking a deep breath."

Jo focused on him and obeyed, breathing in through her nose and out again. In, then out again. Steve realized Barton was doing the same thing. After a few more breaths she spoke in a far calmer tone. "Jorunn. Steve said you were a bandit."

"Once upon a time, I was. Now I'm retired. Occasionally I still shoot things."

"I have a '73 Winchester in my trunk. I don't get much chance to shoot things anymore, though." She took another breath and Steve watched the muscles in her shoulders and back relax. "Thank you," she added.

He nodded. "Now. Where to? A hotel? Will you be staying in town?"

"We're going to San Francisco," Steve said. "I just need to stop in to get my shield and make a phone call." He looked down at Jo. "We're across the street from Central Park, you could wait there. It's beautiful on a day like today."

She considered it a moment, then nodded. "I can do that."

Barton held out an arm. "Ladies first."

Steve saw the slightest tremble in her hand as she put it on Barton’s elbow.

The ride to the Tower seemed to perk her up. She spent most of it leaning out the window, staring at the skyscrapers in fascination. He didn't know how long it had been since she'd been in a major city, but he doubted they had anything like this back in the Yukon.

They parked, and Steve walked with them into the park. He was rather surprised when she put the ventilated case down and let the cat out. It stretched, sniffed, and then went wandering off. "Central Park is very large," he commented.

"She'll come back when I call her. But she needs to pee and probably find a snack." She looked up at him. "Tyv's stuck with me this long, I don't think the park will be the thing that separates us."

"I will be back as quick as I can." He looked at Anja. "I'll report for you, stay here with Jo."

The redhead gave a little salute. "Say hi to mom for me." She turned to Jo and pointed down the path. "There's usually men selling food towards the middle of the park," she told her, leading her away from the street.

He waved to the three of them, and then went across the street. He stood in the lobby for a moment, sighed, and got in the elevator. He was on a schedule. 

He could probably survive falling 50 floors, anyway.

An assistant he didn't know told him to go straight into Nat's office. She was lounging behind her desk, sporting a pair of reading glasses, going over a thick file. She looked up and smiled when he came in. "How did it go?"

"She's a creation of the Bride Stone. She's the one they stole it from to make me. However that happened, it was so bad, she won't even come in the building. She's in the park with your husband and daughter."

Nat sat up, taking her glasses off and setting them on her desk. "I assume she won't be joining the team, then?"

"Right now, no." He paused. "But I may need a couple of days off. I'm taking her to San Francisco to meet all the Odinssons."

She laughed a little. "There's a dinner party I'd like to see. Take what you need, it's not like I have you on a punch clock here." She paused. "How did Anja handle herself?"

"Quite well. We went to watch Jo fight—that's her real name, I promise I'll write out a proper report when I get back. We watched the fight, and Anja leans over and tells me that she learned how to throw a punch when she was four, and can tell when someone is pulling theirs." 

"That's my girl," Nat said with a proud smile. "I'll make her fill out a report, too. Just so she gets the boring side of it." She leaned back in her chair. "You're headed out west, then?"

"Yes. You mind if make a long distance call?"

"Go ahead. Have fun. I'm glad she's not an evil Asgardian we have to deal with."

"Just a lost human like the rest of us." She smiled, and he let himself out.

The three floors above were all labs and workshops, the birthplace of all of their equipment—and a number of inventions released to the world. Every time he went up there, though, he was half afraid he was going to witness a sad industrial accident. Boring technology made him nervous sometimes. Cutting edge he sort of wished was in the basement.

The fifty first floor was a cavernous open space filled with machinery. "Stark!" he bellowed.

A head of red hair popped up from behind one of the machines. "Me or Dad?" Charlie called back.

"Whichever one of you has my shield."

Charlie came jogging over. "I have it around here somewhere. Dad's only in on Tuesdays now." For years Tony Stark had built much of their equipment. But age and health were getting to him, so now their labs were run mostly by his son. Charlie was somewhere in the middle of Stark's eleven children, but he'd been underfoot since he was a little boy. He was as brilliant as his father, with—if this was even possible—more ego. Humility didn't run in that bloodline.

"Did your new paint stay on?" Steve's shield was made of an alien metal called uru they'd found in the jungle during a mission twenty years ago. Stark Sr. had always been fascinated by it. It had some odd traits—it was bulletproof, absorbed vibration, and seemed virtually unmeltable. They also couldn't get paint to stick on for more than a week without peeling.

"So far, so good," Charlie said, rummaging in a pile of stuff on one of the lab tables. "I tested it with fire and bullets and it's still going strong. Didn't have time for corrosive or freezing." He looked up again. "Are you taking it in the field?"

"Just to San Francisco. I don't think I'll encounter ice or acid, but I can ask Thor to whack it and see what happens."

"You could have Loki freeze it if you're feeling brave." He unearthed the shield and brought it over. It now sported a bright red, white and blue paint job.

Steve grinned. "That is perfect. Thank you."

"No problem. Keep me posted on if it peels or not. And give my best to Syn," he added with a wink. Loki's wife had saved Charlie's life when he was a little boy, and he was fond of her.

Steve looked down at the shield, having one of those moments where it caught him he was working with people he'd known since they were tiny. They changed and he did not. If anyone saw them together they would likely think he and Charlie were the same age. "Will do," he said.

Now he just had to make his phone call.

*

Anja convinced her father to buy them ices from a vendor in Central Park before they started back to meet Steve. Having spent almost an hour with them Jo was fairly certain Anja could convince her father to do just about anything. Watching the girl animatedly recount her adventures at the carnival stirred an odd sort of nostalgia in Jo. Fathers and daughters really hadn't changed much.

She sighed and threw out what remained of her ice. She hadn't thought of her father in ages and here she was trying to recall the sound of his laugh. This is what came from being around normal people. Why had she agreed to come along again?

Just then she caught sight of Steve, standing on the path not far from the entrance. She really hoped there wasn't part of her here just because he was nice to look at. That had never worked out well in the past.

It did take her a minute to noticed the other man standing next to him. Dark hair, expensive suit, green vest. _Very_ expensive gold watch he was frowning at. In 300 years she'd gotten very good at sizing up men. She could tell who was dangerous. The same instinct that had told her she could trust Steve was. . . concerned about this man, whomever he was. Anja's father had tripped the same instinct, but he'd had gray hair, an effusive daughter, and a kinder manner than you'd have thought to look at him to temper the first impression. 

Still, a strange man who might be trouble still made her less nervous than thinking too much about her past.

Their little group reached the pair and Clint and the stranger exchanged nods of acknowledgement. For men like that it was practically a warm hug. Anja did hug him and, to Jo's surprise, he hugged her back. Sort of. There was some only slightly awkward back patting. 

"Jo, this is Loki. Formerly of Asgard," Steve said as she came to stand by him. "Loki, this is the woman I told you about. Who had the stone."

The man—Loki—eyed her with a blend of curiosity and caution. "You aren't going to try to ask if me if I'm _the_ Loki and start worshiping me are you?"

She arched her brows. "Sorry. I was raised Lutheran."

He made a little humphing noise and Anja leaned over to whisper, "He was really hoping you were gonna think he was a god."

"Loki is going to take us to San Francisco," Steve said. "It will save us a week on a train, but we will need to go somewhere private." While he was speaking, Jo noticed Tyv had reappeared. She was, in fact, winding through Loki's legs.

Really, those two sentences raised more questions than they answered. Jo had the distinct impression Steve was used to people trusting him implicitly. Right now, she was more concerned with her traitor of a cat than explaining her trust issues. "I will go anywhere but that building," she told him, glaring at Tyv.

Loki looked down at the cat, his lip curling in distaste. Then his face changed. "That's a skogkatt. I haven't seen one of those since I was boy."

Jo's brows went up. "I haven't heard the word skogkatt in a very long time."

He crouched and, to the amazement of the rest of them, scooped the cat up, promptly covering his suit in fur. He murmured to it in Norwegian and Jo decided it was in her best interest not to tell the others he was, in fact, speaking baby talk to her two hundred year old cat. Tyv, for her part, was purring and kneading on him like a kitten.

"I think this is the craziest thing I've ever seen," Clint muttered.

"Agreed," Steve replied.

"Skogkatts are in a lot of old legends," Jo said. "Apparently, she recognizes a god when she sees one."

Loki tucked Tyv under one arm. "Are we going?"

"We should go inside," Steve said.

Loki rolled his eyes. "People know who we are." He reached out to put his hand on Jo's arm. Steve did the same, and there was a flash of green light. She was disoriented a moment. By the time it cleared Loki had released her arm and she realized they were no longer outside, but in a very well appointed parlor. Clint and Anja were gone and there was a new woman, in a green skirt and white blouse.

"Oh, that didn't take long at all," she said brightly, stepping to Loki's side. "Did you adopt a cat?"

"This is a proper cat." He put Tyv down and looked at Jo. "May I present Lady Syn, my wife."

Jo wasn't entirely sure if she should curtsy or something. Syn solved the dilemma by reaching out and taking her hand. "It's very nice to meet you. Steve said you used the Bride Stone?"

"Not intentionally, but yes. I'm Jorunn. Jo."

"Always good to have another member for our little club." She turned to Steve and hugged him. "It's good to see you again, Steve."

"Thank you for letting us stay here. Are you sure it's not a bother?"

"Of course not. You know we have plenty of room in this ridiculous house."

"My house is not ridiculous!" Loki said from the sofa he had sat on to pet Tyv again.

"Yes, it is," Syn whispered to Jo and Steve. "Steve, you're in your usual room and Jo is right next to you. Your bags are in your rooms if you'd like to freshen up. I called Thor and Jane; they'll be here for dinner this evening."

She looked back at Tyv, who had apparently abandoned her. Loki waved. "She may have the run of the house. Many of the windows are open so she can come and go as she pleases."

"I'll have the cook save the meat and fish scraps for her as well," Syn offered.

Not only a traitor, but soon to be a fat traitor. She supposed she couldn't blame the cat too much. So she shrugged and followed Steve to the door. "It's good you didn't explain the instant travel," she told him. "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been okay with it."

"I'm sorry. Loki just. . . does things."

They stepped into the hall, and she stopped and stared. It was as immense and ornate as the inside of a cathedral, all arches and ornate carved wood. She tipped her head back to take it all in and Steve waited patiently while she did so.

Finally, she turned back to him. "This is a ridiculous house, isn't it?"

He laughed and shook his head, and then looked down at her. It was that charming earnest grin of his. "It is. But they're good people."

He gestured to the grand, sweeping staircase and she started walking again. "Well, Tyv certainly seems to like Loki and she's generally a good judge of character." She glanced back at him. "Sorry about her getting into your bunk last night. I hope she wasn't too annoying."

"She was very fluffy," he replied, very diplomatically.

Jo tossed a grin at him as they reached the top of the stairs and he lead her down the hall. "That comes in handy in the snow."

He stopped in front of a door. "This is you. If you need anything I'm right next door."

His smile now was softer, and somehow more earnest than the wide grin. It was impossible not to smile back. And a teeny, tiny part of herself that she'd thought long buried admitted that yes, part of the reason she was here was that smile. 

She put a hand on her doorknob. "Thank you. I'll see you later."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _New Art, Old Stories and Celestial Navigation_


	5. New Art, Old Stories and Celestial Navigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nyx here. Sorry it's late. In my defense, it is still Wednesday where I live. Today was my daughter's first day of Kindergarten and we were VERY busy.

Loki listened to the footsteps and voices out in the hall, petting the cat idly until Syn came back into the parlor. "It's kind of adorable. Steve has made a friend. A _lady_ friend."

"I think it's sweet," Syn said, sinking into a chair. "And I don't know that you're in a position to mock. You've made a friend as well."

"This is an excellent cat. I wonder what it would cost to purchase her for myself?"

"You cannot appropriate someone else's cat. We can go get our own cat."

"I would compensate her very generously."

His wife gave him a very familiar, very exasperated look. "People tend to get attached to haughty creatures that make their lives difficult. Hence why I'm still with you."

He looked up. "Well, you've had my baby. You're stuck with me now."

Exasperation melted into affection. "Yes, I suppose I am."

Loki adored his daughter more than anything in the nine realms. She was small and loud and continually emitting all manner of foul smells and/or liquids. His goal had been to survive this infant period out of duty and love for his wife, until the child became old enough to be interesting, at which point he hoped he would at least get some enjoyment out of her. 

Thor had tried to tell him. Natasha, of all people, had done the same. He hadn't understood. 

It really did put his entire existence in perspective.

"Speaking of," he said, though Syn hadn't been party to his train of thoughts. "Did Thor try to talk to you when you invited them to dinner?"

She tilted her head. "No, I spoke only to Jane. Why? Is something going on?"

"He thinks we should bring Hela to Asgard. To meet, you know, 'the family'." He used finger quotes in case his vocal inflection wasn't clear.

"Can he get you unbanished for this endeavor? I'm not taking her on her first inter-realm excursion alone."

"You cannot think this is a good idea."

She paused, watching him a moment. He could _see_ her choosing exactly which argument would sway him the fastest. "Your mother would love to meet her granddaughter."

His angry pride really wanted to stop thinking of her as his mother. But he never could. "They share no blood with our daughter. Magni is their grandchild. Thor brings him up there regularly. That should be sufficient."

"We don't share blood with most of the people we call family, that's hardly the deciding factor."

"That is a completely different matter."

Syn was obviously not going to let this go. "I think the more people who love Hela, the better."

"It's going to be very busy coming up. Election season and all." Which was actually in the fall. She'd probably point that out. In the chaos and power vacuum after the 1906 earthquake, Loki had gotten somewhat _involved_ in San Francisco politics. Neither Syn nor Nat would let him run for mayor. So he settled for running the city's—and, effectively, California's—political machine from behind the scenes. It wasn't quite his own kingdom, but it kept him entertained.

She leaned forward in her seat. "You're going to have to face them again someday."

"I really don't think I do," he retorted. He hoped he didn't sound as petulant to her as he did to himself.

Syn stood and joined him on the sofa. "If they're willing to have us come visit I think you should take the olive branch."

"I don't need them." He was aiming for more calm than petulant now. He really did believe that some days, too.

"Loki." He pressed his mouth into a think line and tilted his face away from her. Syn sighed and slid her arms around him. "All right. Maybe another time."

"I can't imagine anything she could do that would cause me to banish her."

"Ah," she said softly. "Well. You're too old for them to ground any other way."

"I thought perhaps I'd understand them better, being a parent. Of course, I'm not actually their child, so maybe the experience doesn't transfer." He cast his eyes at the ceiling. "Do you think she's up from her nap yet?"

Syn smiled and kissed his cheek. "I don't hear her. But I'm sure she wouldn't mind a visit from her daddy," she added, scooping the cat out of his lap and into hers.

He really liked that cat, and was going to have to find some way to obtain it for himself at some point. In the mean time, he transported himself up a floor to his daughter’s nursery. When she woke he changed her and told her a long, winding story about a magical cat, which kept her entertained until he could hear the sound of his brother's voice echoing in the hallway.

He called for her nanny. After he built this house, he took Syn on a quiet trip to Alfheim to hire a few servants. They were never entirely themselves with a human staff, and imagined it would be worse with a baby. Natasha had been mad at him for bringing more people from other realms to her territory. But Loki only followed the rules what it was utterly necessary.

Downstairs in the hallway, Thor and Jane were both staring up at his new painting. Granted, it was a fairly surreal depiction of a group of nude women, but their facial expressions were uncalled for.

"What do you think?" Loki asked cheerfully.

"It's very colorful," Jane said diplomatically. "Though very. . ." she blushed, and whispered, " _Naked_

He reached the bottom of the stairs. "The artist's name is Henri Matisse. We bought it the last time we were in New York."

Thor turned to look up at his Picasso on the wall opposite it. "Don't you ever buy any normal paintings?"

Loki sighed. He loved his brother. But he was so boring.

Syn came out of the side parlor, saving him from more art critiques. "There you are. I'm so glad you could come on such short notice." She hugged Jane and allowed Thor to crush her. "Steve's lady is delightful."

"She has a skogkatt," Loki added.

"Where?" Thor asked. "I haven't seen one since we were children."

"It's about somewhere. I'm hoping I can purchase it."

"The cat is not for sale." That was Steve, from the stairway. His voice was not as loud as Thor's, but he was excellent at projecting the same righteous tone.

"Everything is for sale if one has a large enough vault," Loki replied in the same tone he would have used for Thor.

"That supposes gold is a currency of value to the seller," Jo said from beside him. Loki turned and raised an eyebrow. "Otherwise they're just bits of metal."

"Gold can be traded for any sort of currency you do value. It can be traded for anything at all."

"Like ugly art," Thor muttered from behind him.

Jo's gaze flickered to the art on the walls and widened. "Is that a Matisse?"

He grinned proudly. "It is. I got it at The Armory Show in New York. Some dumb crowd of protesters had gotten ahold of it and were trying to burn it. Anything that makes people that angry is well worth purchasing, if you ask me."

"Oh, I heard about that. I'm so glad someone saved it, it's lovely." Thor and Jane's perplexed expressions were almost as delightful as finding a fellow art lover.

For that, he would stop talking about purchasing her cat. "I should give you a tour of my collections. Humanity has created such a wonderful variety of art just in the decades we've been here. Art on Asgard is very stifled."

"I love art," she said. "I've no talent for it myself, unfortunately. It's been interesting watching different styles rise and ebb. Not to mention the differences country to country."

A throat cleared behind him. Of course, just when he was beginning an interesting conversation. But they were his guests, so he stepped back. "May I present my brother Thor, and his wife, Jane." 

They all said their hellos, including Jane gushing about how nice it was to have another immortal. He supposed their group was rather small, but honestly, the woman got enthusiastic about everything.

At some point in the conversation it was mentioned that the cat was immortal. Now that was interesting. "I don't suppose you'd trade her for a Van Gogh. I have two."

"Unless you have the original _Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog_ you have nothing I would treasure more then Tyv," she told him. "And even then I'd have to think about it."

"You are a worthy negotiating partner, I will give you that," he told her. She was likely not aware of how great a compliment that was. He offered her his arm. "Shall we proceed to the dining room?"

She smiled and took his arm. "Lead the way."

*

Steve wasn't usually a fan of dinner parties. Partially, perhaps, because they were events designed for even numbers. And he was, as often as not, the odd number. At least his friends didn't insist of bringing in an extra person, to round out the table.

Anymore, at least. There were a couple of years there where Nat had made finding him a woman her mission in life. But it was very hard for a group like theirs to be themselves if you added any normal people to the mix.

This particular dinner party, however, had an even number, and some of his favorite people.

"So he looks right at this little old lady, and yells, 'I will buy you a new dog.' " Thor was telling stories of the San Francisco earthquake and their massive rescue mission afterwards. "And then the family comes out carrying a baby instead."

"That woman mumbled," Loki said, making a face that indicated he'd said that a thousand times. Which he had.

Jo was laughing out loud, being the only one who hadn't heard the story a thousand times as well. She was on her second glass of Asgardian wine, cheeks pink and flushed. They had been regaling her with tales for the whole meal and she had returned the favor. He imagined if Jane and Syn hadn't been there she would have had far more ribald stories to share. From the glimpses he'd gotten she had lived in some of the roughest places and times possible, often doing the work of a man. She'd been a prospector, a spy and a whaler.

And good God in heaven did she look pretty in an evening gown.

She picked up her wine glass and took another sip. "It's so nice to be able to tell my stories honestly for a change."

"You have excellent stories," Thor said. "You are welcome at our table as often as you wish."

"This is my table," Loki commented.

"You're still welcome at it," Syn assured her, shaking her head at her husband.

Jo was laughing again. "Thank you. Very much. This was a lovely evening."

"I was very excited when Loki told us," Jane said. "We are so rare. We must know each other."

"It's hard alone," Jo agreed, setting her glass back down. "I'm glad to have an answer as to what the stone was. Though I admit the answer is a little anticlimactic."

"It's caused far more suffering than was ever intended," Thor said. "Men were killed, wars were nearly started." 

Steve watched Jo's face change, the humor draining away. "When it was stolen I tried to retrieve it but circumstances made it very difficult," she said quietly. "I regret I didn't try harder. I'm glad it's back where it belongs now."

"It's not your fault," Steve said. "I took it from them, and I put it somewhere I thought was safe, but wasn't."

"And then I stole it," Loki said with a sigh. "And misjudged who I sold it to."

"We can only do our best with the knowledge we have," Syn said. "None of us can see the future. I'm impressed your family kept it safe as long as you did without any accidents. Seven hundred years is a long time to avoid temptation."

"I have no idea if the story of my ancestor being a priest is true. But by the time I came along we were a family of practical fishermen with no time to be mucking about with magic rocks."

Syn grinned. "I admire pragmatism of that level."

"Regular people are often more pragmatic than royalty," Jane said. "In my experience."

"Also women," Syn added and she and Jane clinked glasses.

Loki looked at his brother. "See, this is what comes of letting them be friends. They _turn_ on us."

"Wait until the children grow and begin to conspire," Thor replied.

"Speaking of," Jane said. "It is getting late."

"So it is," Loki said, looking at the clock. "I'm sure Hela will be wailing at any moment."

The Asgardian children aged slowly, just like the adults. So while Loki and Syn's daughter was almost seven she was still only crawling. Thor and Jane's son was Anja's age and still basically a toddler. It was a bit disorienting for the rest of them to adjust to.

Jane and Thor stood to say their goodbyes. Steve watched Jo dodge the other woman's hug masterfully. "It was very nice to meet you," she said. 

Jane smiled. "I hope to see you again soon. We really do need to stick together."

They were bundled in their carriage—Thor still holding out against automobiles with great fervor—and rolling down the street. Upstairs, as predicted, you could hear the baby crying. "We'll see you in the morning," Syn said.

Steve wasn't tired, and he had no children to attend to. "I was going to go for a walk in the gardens," he commented. 

He saw Jo glance at the stairs, then at him. "Do you mind company?"

"Not at all. The view is lovely, too. Particularly at night." He offered her his arm. She hesitated. He'd noticed she often hesitated before touching people and wondered if it was real resistance or just lack of practice. She did finally curl her hand around his upper arm, falling into step with him as he led her out to the gardens. 

"When we were here in the aftermath of the earthquake, we worked all day—until we were so exhausted we couldn't see. Then we gathered in Golden Gate Park in the refugee camp, and Loki pulled out a bottle of Asgardian liquor, something I hadn't known existed before. First time I was drunk in a hundred years."

"You know," she said thoughtfully. "I don't think I've ever been properly drunk. I did miss this pleasantly warm buzz, though. If I get nothing else out of this I'm absolutely stealing some of that wine."

"When I woke up from the ice, and realized eighty years had passed, and everyone I knew was dead. . . I drank until I was sick, but I didn't get drunk. It was a horrible realization." It had been a very dark time in general—far more than anyone really knew.

Her hand tightened on his arm in a gesture of comfort. "Other drugs don't work, either, if you're curious. I tried opium after. . . after I lost the stone. It didn't do anything at all."

"That does not surprise me. I imagine it means poisons don't work, either." He shook his head. "No, let’s not talk about ways we can't die again. It's too nice a night."

"Agreed." She tipped her head back, looking up at the sky. "I always like to go out at night. No matter how bad the day has been, the stars are always familiar. It's comforting."

He looked up. "They tell you where you are, and how to get where you want to go."

She wrapped her arms around herself, for comfort or warmth, he couldn't tell. "My first memory is sitting out in the dark with my father learning the stars. How to find the north star. How they changed with the seasons. I've forgotten so much of my life before the stone but I remember that."

"I remember my life before the stone with great vividness," he replied.

Her gaze moved from the stars to him. "You said you were scrawny. But you were in the Navy?"

"I was a cabin boy. I got good with the rigging. But they always called me 'boy'. Even when I no longer was one."

"Well. People are assholes."

That made him laugh. "Yes. But then I was captured, and suddenly I longed for my stupid, crass, but ultimately mostly well meaning American shipmates. The British Navy was pretty evil."

"I can imagine. Quite vividly, actually."

He looked down at her. "I wonder if you and I were down in that dungeon at the same time."

A muscle in her jaw tightened and he saw her press a hand against her stomach. "I don't remember a dungeon. They didn't—they didn't have me very long."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

She shook herself and managed a little smile. "It's all right. If we try to avoid all the land mines in my past we'll never talk about anything."

"I don't wish to upset you. It's just that meeting someone who had even a little bit of a similar experience. . .someone who remembers that time. . ." he shrugged.

She studied him a moment, then looked around the garden, the flowers that surrounded them. Syn was an avid gardener, with a wide variety of plants. Steve wondered sometimes if being a healer gave her such a green thumb.

Jo reached out and touched the petals of a bright pink flower dangling off a trellis. "Do you remember that sound the sails made when they'd fill for the first time? That snapping-cracking noise? The ship would lurch a bit, like a horse trying to gallop while you kept it at a canter. Then the sounds of the land would dim and it would be just the sea birds and the water and the wind."

He'd loved being at sea. He missed it. "Eventually you'd lose sight of the shore. Then you'd lose the birds, and it was just your tiny bobbing ship in the middle of all that blue."

"The smell of the salt. Oh, and climbing the rigging until you could hear the crew anymore. The wind would be so loud it would block out everything else."

"I didn't know you sailed so much."

She reached for the flower again, plucking it this time. "I worked whaling vessels for a while in New England in the early eighteen-hundreds. The hunting was nasty work but I loved being on the water. My father was a fisherman. He said the sea was in our blood." She twirled the blossom between her fingers. "After a while it was too hard to get work as a woman. The war broke out soon after, then I started following the gold. When they replaced sails with steam. . ." She shrugged. "It wasn't the same."

"I miss it," he said. "It was my trade. Not that I'm not glad I have something to do in this new world, but. . ." He shrugged. "Sometimes I just want to get a sailboat and go."

"I lived on a boat for a few years. Just me and the cat. Went into port for supplies every few weeks. It was peaceful." She tucked the flower behind her ear. "If you ever get that sailboat let me know. Two of us? We could handle a decent size one."

He turned to face her. "I'll take you up on that. We have a lot of years ahead of us."

She smiled, the shy sweet one she'd had on when she spotted him at the train station. He had a feeling that's how she'd smiled when she was young, before whatever had happened to her in England. She nodded and slid her hand into the crook of his arm again, turning back towards the house. "It's a promise."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _On the Acquiring of Nicknames_


	6. On the Acquiring of Nicknames

_June, 1913  
New York City_

She was running late, again.

Jo had one of the oldest still functioning watches in the world. She loved watches and clocks. She could tell time by the stars and the sun. And still, she couldn't arrive for a lunch date on time. It was only because of Steve's unending patience and good humor he hadn't given up on her entirely.

He was standing outside the cafe they'd agreed to meet at, looking perfect and sun kissed as always. Women glanced at him as they passed, some subtle, some less so. They tended to look at Jo, too, when they were together. It was a very different sort of look, though.

"I'm sorry," she said when she reached him. "I have no excuse, but I am sorry."

He grinned at her. It didn't seem possible that he could get more good looking—and then he smiled. "I do not mind waiting for you one bit."

"Oh, don't say that. If it wasn't for my guilt I wouldn't try to be on time at all." They met at least once a week for lunch or coffee. It was the only reason she was still in New York. Bustling city life had been an adventure at first, but now she often longed for open spaces and privacy. She had not yet been able to bring herself to leave him, though. She suspected if she told him she wanted to go somewhere quieter he'd offer to come along, but she wasn't quite ready to test the theory. "How've you been?"

"I've been good." He opened the door for her. "I'm going to have to go out of town for a bit."

She slid past him into the restaurant. "Mission?"

"Yes. Nothing out of the ordinary." He didn’t talk much about his work. She didn't know if it was because of their rules, or because of how nervous even the lobby of Stark Tower made her. But since they had returned from San Francisco, they usually found other things to discuss. 

They were seated and ordered coffee and sandwiches. "The Met is opening a new exhibit," she offered. "We could go see it when you get back."

"Is it going to be more of that cubist stuff? I haven't decided what I think of that."

She grinned. "No, no. No modern. European romantics. Probably see some paintings from your lifetime, actually." She'd been absolutely delighted to learn Steve drew in that little notebook he always seemed to have with him. He'd only ever shown her a handful of sketches, mostly of the city's skyscrapers, but it had been a good segue into a common interest. 

"I'm not entirely trapped in the era of my youth," he said. "I enjoy the impressionists a great deal. If you ever come upstairs, we have a number of them on the walls." He did not say that as bait, or a nudge. He hadn't asked her in quite a while. "Our director is an enormous fan. She once sat for Renoir. Though I've never seen that one—it's a nude. It's not in the office."

The pronoun caught her attention. "Your director is a she?"

"We're a unique organization."

Maybe she should start asking more questions about his work. Not that being lead by a woman necessarily precluded them from doing bad things. But she appreciated any differences she could find between the group Steve worked for and the one she'd run afoul of in England. The more she could separate them in her mind the easier their friendship would be.

The waiter brought their food and drinks and they ate in silence for a bit. "When do you leave?"

"Two days," he said. "They're still gathering final intel."

She studied him a moment, turning her coffee cup in its saucer. "Do you like it? Doing what you do?"

"Mostly. We do good things. We've saved a lot of lives. Stopped some ugly things from getting worse. And it gives me. . .purpose."

"I can understand that." She tried to think of the last time she felt she had a purpose. Prospecting, maybe. It hadn't really changed the world, but it had gotten her up in the morning. "It's easy to get lost without it."

"The door is always open, you know."

It was such a Steve way to say it. No pressure, no expectations. Just this open door and the promise of welcome. She could admit that the idea no longer filled her with blinding, choking panic. She had not yet come to a point where it was appealing, though. "Someone likes to remind me I have plenty of time to make a decision."

"You do." He straightened, looking at something in the doorway. He sighed. "I apologize. I did not do this on purpose."

Jo turned to see a petite woman with fading red hair making her way through the restaurant towards them. She tugged an empty chair from a nearby table and pulled it up to their table. "Hi Steve. I apologize for interrupting your meal but this was urgent."

"And coincidentally is during this particular lunch. Jo, this is Natasha Barton, Director for the Avengers Initiative. Also Anja's mother."

Oh, that explained so much. She and Natasha nodded politely to each other. "I swear, this is not me being trying to sneakily recruit you. If talking about Steve's upcoming mission makes you uncomfortable we can take this elsewhere."

She was good, Jo would give her that. Just vague enough to make it intriguing. No one with a healthy sense of curiosity would pass this up. Jo picked up her coffee cup and leaned back. "No. By all means. Continue."

Nat's eyes narrowed slightly, like she was trying to read her intent, then she nodded again and turned back to Steve. "Garret's wife asked him not to go. The baby's due in less then a month and they're both having new parent jitters. So now you're down a man for the trip."

Steve grinned. "We could take Anja."

Nat gave him a look. "She got arrested at a suffrage protest. Clint's not currently a fan of letting her out of his sight."

He waved a hand. "We'll be fine. It's mostly a smash and grab, isn't it? Have Charlie bring one of the suits. I know he doesn't like wearing it, but it'll do in a pinch."

"There's an extra complication. We believe either the target or the buyer will have the Mona Lisa."

Jo choked on her coffee. "What?"

Nat looked over at her. "Two years ago the Mona Lisa was stolen—”

"I know," Jo interrupted. "I'm more interested in it being found."

The redhead pursed her lips and gave Steve a sidelong glance before answering. "Steve's team will be interrupting a very secretive arms deal. New intel indicates the painting is part of the payment." She looked back at Steve. "Are you sure you're okay down a man? There's still unknown variables and I hate to send you in underprepared."

"I will manage," he said firmly. "I always do."

Jo had to admit, the determined set of his jaw was almost as attractive as his smile. She blamed that, the opportunity to see the Mona Lisa up close, and the sudden sharp spike of worry at Steve going into trouble without enough people to cover his back for what came out of her mouth next. "I'll go."

They both turned to look at her. "What?" Steve asked.

She shrugged. "You need another body. I can shoot. I can fight. I can follow orders."

"I thought you didn't want to be part of the group," Nat said quietly.

"I'm still not sure I do. But I would like to see the Mona Lisa and I trust Steve, at least, not to stab me in the back." She sipped her coffee. "And I've never been one to turn down a good fight."

"She'll need gear," Nat said.

"We'll deal with it on the ship," Steve replied. Then he grinned at Jo. "Thank you."

Oh, that smile. At her age, she should really be less of a sucker. She couldn't help but smile back. "No problem."

"I have to go upstairs and take care of some things."

"If you come along we can get you geared up today," Nat told Jo. Steve gave her a look that by all rights should have set her hair on fire. The older woman ignored him. "Fear doesn't ease unless you face it," she added.

Just the suggestion had caused her hand to tighten dangerously on her coffee cup. She put it down before she shattered it. "I'll walk you to the Tower," she told Steve. There was a bookstore a few doors down from the building that she liked to stop in.

He looked at Nat, very seriously. "I will be up in a few minutes."

She took the hint and nodded, standing. "I'll see you then." She inclined her head at Jo. "Thank you." Then she turned and left.

"I'm sorry," Steve said, reaching out to put his hand over hers. "You don't have to go."

Jo looked at his hand on hers. She'd gotten used to not being touched by anybody. It had taken her a while to get used to how casually he did it. Now she found herself both overwhelmed by and starved for the feel of those rough fingertips. She took a deep breath in and then out again, like Barton had shown her all those weeks ago. "It's all right. I'll walk you over. See if the shop has any new books."

"No, I mean. . . you don't have to come on the mission. She did that on purpose. It's what she does. Usually she's more subtle, but being shorthanded makes her nervous."

She forced herself not to laugh, but she couldn't help but smile. "Steve. I know when I'm being played. Of course she did it on purpose. No one tricked me into volunteering."

"All right," he said. He stood up, and reached down a hand for her. She tossed her napkin on the table and took his hand, standing. He held her hand a little longer than necessary, then gestured for her to proceed him out of the restaurant.

He offered her his arm when they reached the street. Her hand fit nicely in the crook of his elbow and she tucked herself close to his side. She pretended not to notice the looks they got as they walked the few blocks to Stark Tower, too busy watching said building loom closer.

It was silly. It was just a building. Glass and steel and concrete. It wasn't the old stone building in the south end of London. It wasn't the same. There was no reason for it to send such fear through her. Steve glanced down at her and she realized her hand had started to tighten on him as they got closer to the lobby doors. Another man would probably be on his knees in pain. She forced herself to relax her hand and keep breathing.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Go look at the books. I won't be long."

They were at the doors now, the doorman holding one open for them. She should do what Steve said. Just let go of his arm and head down the street to the bookstore. Simple. He wouldn't judge her, would never say a word about it. Because he didn't want her to be afraid. She'd meant what she told Natasha. She trusted Steve, despite every effort to the contrary. She didn't trust Nat, she barely knew her and she'd certainly proven to be willing to manipulate. She didn't like how close the Avengers were to the shadowy group she'd know a century ago. But if there was one thing she was certain of it was that Steve would never let anyone hurt her the way she'd been hurt before.

And that was why she lifted her head, straightened her shoulders and walked into Stark Tower's lobby. He jogged after her, stopping at the elevators. "Do I have to be brave too, or can we take the stairs?"

She was in no place to tease him about his fear of elevators and she wasn't entirely sure she remembered how to speak English at this particular moment. So she just nodded and followed him to the stair door.

There were many, many flights of stairs before he finally stopped and opened a set of doors. The physical activity had actually served to settle her thoughts a bit. She stepped into a very boring looking lobby complete with apathetic looking typing pool and smartly dressed assistants hurrying past. Some of her lingers doubts eased.

She saw Anja come jogging across the typing pool. "You're here! You're here!" It was absolutely impossible to dodge the girl's hug.

Jo held her very carefully, but actually found a little bit of comfort in the embrace. Anja's energy could be infectious. "Yes. I'm here." She set the girl back at arm's length. "It's a little anticlimactic, I must say. You couldn't have arranged for one shadowy figure in the corner or a man in a bloodstained lab coat?"

Anja opened her mouth, but before a word came out, a door across from them opened and a red-haired young man burst from it. He wasn't wearing a lab coat, but was wearing a leather apron with something green and slimy on it, and a turned-up welder's mask. "So it's true. The Stone Lady is here." He walked up to her. "Hello. I'm Charlie Stark. Can I run some tests?"

Anja turned around and punched the man, hard. It was a quality right hook, he stumbled backward. "What is the matter with you?"

"I didn't say invasive tests!" he protested, checking his mouth for blood.

Jo had the urge to hug the girl again. She looked up at Steve. "I want a better nick name then Stone Lady."

"Many of us do have them," he replied.

"You're an insufferable jerk," Anja told Charlie.

"You're a violence-prone brat," he retorted.

Anja lifted a fist to hit him again and Jo and Steve both moved to stop her. "It's all right," Jo told her. "Thank you for the protection. No, by the way," she added to Charlie.

"That would have been a perfectly sufficient answer," he replied, glaring at Anja.

She put her hands on her hips. "I didn't want to risk you setting her on fire."

"That was _one_ time. You're like an elephant."

"Did you just call me fat?"

Beside her Steve crossed his arms over his chest, and covered his face with one hand. She leaned over so her head was almost on his shoulder and whispered, "Is it always like this? Because now I'm really regretting not coming up sooner."

He tugged on her sleeve, pulling her away from their argument. "Them? Yes. Charlie likes to provoke people, and she seems incapable of backing down. When they were kids she was like his sidekick. Then she started looking like a woman and war was the predictable result."

She shook her head. "God save girls from the boys who pull their pigtails."

"Jorunn," Nat said, appearing in a doorway. "I'm glad you could make it."

With the excitement she'd honestly forgotten she was supposed to be afraid. "The first step was the hardest."

She nodded, acknowledging without commenting. "We were just about to start our briefing."

Steve lead her to a meeting room while Natasha went over to extricate Charlie from his continuing argument with Anja. Jo sank into the chair Steve held out for her as two other agents came in and took their seats.

"This is Finch and MacDonald," Steve said. "They are marksmen, Finch is also our medic."

"You must be the Viking," Finch said, holding out his hand to shake. 

She shook his hand. "That's better then Stone Woman, but you can call me Jo."

"Jo it is. Are you muscle?"

That might be an understatement. Out the corner of her eye she saw Steve grin. "I believe that's my role, yes. Though I can shoot if needed."

"Are you as strong as the Asgardians?"

"I'm sure she'll be happy to demonstrate later," Nat said from the doorway, waving Charlie to his seat before coming to the head of the table. 

Files were passed around with the basic information. Jo listened with half an ear, reading the summary. At least two shipments of unknown weapons had been tracked through Europe. A third shipment was set to change hands next week and they would be interrupting the sale. And, yes, there was the information about the Mona Lisa. Recovering it was considered secondary to stopping the sale and confiscating the weaponry, however. Well, no accounting for taste.

"Get in, get out, don't be seen," Nat was saying. She looked up from her papers. "Steve, Charlie, get the patriotic paint off that shield or it stays here." She held up her hand when they both opened their mouths. "No. I know you like it, but this is a covert op, not the United States publicly invading Italy. Neutral colors."

"If it's not bright red how will people know to shoot at it?" Steve asked.

"I'm sure you'll think of something. If no one has any questions then we're done here. Charlie, take Jo to the lab and get her geared up. No experiments."

He rubbed his jaw. "I heard."

Nat smirked a little and clapped her hands together. "Okay. That's it. Boat leaves day after tomorrow. Good luck, people."

They all started to get up. "Steve, do you have your shield?" Charlie asked. "I can start the repaint."

"It's in my office, I'll bring it up."

Jo went with him to his office—which didn't look very office-like, as it was mostly full of gym equipment. Punching bags hung from the ceiling. Though, he did have a small writing desk with a pen and inkwell in the corner. 

She gave one of the bags an idle punch, wandering over to the desk as he dug out his shield. She twirled the pen and sniffed at the bitter smell of the ink. "This brings back memories."

"I do not like modern pens," he said.

The pen made a little click as she put it back down. "Some things were better in the past," she agreed. 

"Social rules. Those were better in the past. I am constantly putting my foot in my mouth."

"Oh, God, you had no idea. Everything just got more prudish and refined and—and laced in." She gestured vaguely to her rib cage. "Why do you think I ran away to live with prospectors?"

He came over to throw a few punches at his punching bag. "I thought about it, you know. Giving up and going to live in the wilderness."

She moved to brace the bag for his next punch, figuring it was a luxury he generally didn't have. "What stopped you?"

"Turns out a I like people. I suppose you have to, if you’re going to be happy on a sailing ship. But in particular I like these people. I like working with them, and they're my friends. Gives me a purpose, which I think is important to sanity."

"I find myself generally ambivalent about people," she said honestly. "As a general concept, anyway. Individuals can be nice." She watched him, leaning her shoulder on the bag and crossing her arms. "I see why you like your people."

"We are kindred spirits. We're all strange. None of us get to live a normal life, so we live an abnormal one. . .together. The only thing that's hard is. . . a lot of them are aging. It's strange when your friends get to a different place in life and you're still the same." 

Tears choked at her throat, surprising her. She looked down a moment and breathed around them. "It's never easy. To watch people you care about age and die. It sneaks up on you. Until one day there's an old man sitting where you expect someone young and vibrant to be."

He stopped, and looked around the punching bag at her. "I know exactly what you mean," he said softly.

She smiled a little. "What was her name?"

He tilted his head. "Maybe I don't know exactly what you mean. I don't get involved with women. I lost one to my deep freeze, but she never grew old. In my eyes or anyone else's. She died before she was thirty." He sighed. "Her name was Margaret." He went back to punching the punching bag. "But my friends are turning into old men." 

Jo put her shoulder into bracing the bag for him. "I'm sorry, I don't have any advice for you. After the first one I tried to avoid more." She glanced at him around the bag. "I think having some people you know will be there will help. I hope so, anyway."

"It does. It's why I like going out to San Francisco. They never change." He stepped away from the punching bag. "When we first started there were just the eight of us. Half of those people have gray hair now. I go on these missions now and I'm surrounded by kids." He looked up. "Some of them, literally, my friends’ kids."

"I imagine that adds a different kind of pressure to the missions. Because there's always a part of you that sees them as the child you knew them as." 

"Though that seems to happen to regular people, too. When she's in a mood, Nat will remind Charlie how he loved to take his diaper off and run through the house naked."

She laughed out loud at that. "Oh, my God." She took her own punch at the bag. "I hate people who look older then me talking down to me. It's not as bad as it used to be, but it's very difficult not to inform patronizing men that I'm three hundred years old and can shoot far better than they can."

He grinned. "I'll just bet you can." He picked up his shield. "Come on, I'll show you the workshop."

The grin was back, so all was right with the world. She caught the punching bag to keep it from swinging. "Lead the way, Captain."

The workshop was intimidatingly gigantic. Charlie took the shield and dashed off somewhere with it, with Steve yelling "Neutral colors!" after him.

A man came out from behind one of the tables and walked toward them. He looked a lot like Charlie, only with with darker coloring—or at least it had been before his hair turned white. He leaned on a cane that Jo would bet good money hid some wicked weaponry. He'd make her nervous except for the way Steve grinned. One of his friends who'd turned into an old man, she imagined.

"It's not even Tuesday," Steve said.

"I heard there was something fun happening today." He stopped in front of Jo. "You must be our new recruit. Tony Stark. Welcome to the asylum. Sorry my kid's a shit. He fell on his head a lot."

"I'm told he took his diaper off a lot, too," she replied, shaking his hand. 

"Ah, you've met the Barton women, then." He smiled. "I'm told you need gear for your mission. I have some clothes for you to try on and we can get you set up with some guns, if that's your weapon of choice."

"I'm a fan of guns," she assured him.

"Excellent." He walked back to his table. "Do you wear a corset?"

It was fortunate that life on boats had burned any trace of shyness or propriety out of her. "Only when I have to. I tend to wear men's clothes when I'm not being proper."

"That makes it much simpler. Come on." He snapped his fingers. "I need to measure you. How long until you ship out?"

"Two days," Steve replied. He looked down at Jo. "It's fine. He's a grandfather."

True, this would have been far more awkward with Charlie. Stark had a length of tape measure out. She shrugged and stepped closer so he could take the measurements.

He was efficient about it, and quite professional, though he certainly struck her as the type of man who, in his youth, would have tried to cop a feel. "You don't need to hover, Rogers," he said as he leaned over to jot numbers on a pad. "I will not mess with your girl."

Jo expected a stuttering, embarrassed denial from behind her. All Steve said was a very level, "Good."

She was grateful she had her back to him, because she was utterly incapable of hiding her reaction. Stark smirked a bit at her expression, equal parts surprise and pleasure. Probably best not to read too much into it, though. He'd told her not ten minutes ago he didn't get involved with women and the two months they'd known each other wasn't long enough to be making any sort of claims. Still, it had been a very, very long time since she'd been anyone's.

Stark waved her away as he finished with his notes. "It'll be tight, but we'll have them ready for ship out. I'll have them sent straight to the ship."

"What is it, exactly?" she asked.

"Women's battle gear. My own invention when Natasha was still on active duty. You'll love it. They always do."

"Thank you," Steve said.

"Anytime. Pepper says you need to come to dinner." He looked at Jo. "You too. My wife was very excited when I told her there was a new lady."

Never had she been so popular with such fancy people. "I’ve never been much of a lady. But I'll never say no to dinner with Steve's friends."

"Excellent. When you get back from your mission, we'll set it up." He tapped his cane on the floor. "Now. Guns."

He had many, many guns to show her. Jo picked up and tested most of them, telling Stark stories of Deadwood as she did. She had to promise to bring her Winchester and Colt revolver to dinner before he'd sign off on her guns; two pistols and a portable machine gun that she didn't really like but they insisted was good for back up. It being her first covert op she didn't argue.

When they were done, Steve walked her back downstairs. "He was the original Iron Man. He still puts the suit on now and again."

"I imagine he was a force to be reckoned with when he was younger. He still has a great deal of. . . presence."

"Yes," Steve said. "I can't say we've never crossed swords, so to speak. But he's a good friend. He had a heart attack last year. By whatever crazy luck that seems to run in that family, Loki and Syn were in town, and actually staying at their house. She saved his life. He swears his heart is good as new now, but. . ." He shrugged. "There's so much we don't understand. I expect he'll be the first."

She looked up at him, saw the lines that had formed on his brow again. Without thinking about it, she reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

He didn't let her hand go. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm constantly bringing up this depressing topic."

"Because you know I understand. That I've been there. I've thought the same things you have and had the same fears." His hand was rough and warm and enveloped hers completely. In a strange way she found it as comforting to her as she was trying to be to him. "You can't say it to them, but sometimes you just have to get it out."

There was that smile again. "You know, I am often very glad I met you." 

Her heart gave an odd little squeeze, but she ignored it. She wanted to ask him if she was really his girl, but she ignored that, too. There were some topics she wasn't ready to discuss just yet. But she did say, in total honesty, "I'm glad, too."

They went down a few more flights, and emerged into the sunshine below. "You can bring Tyv," he said. "Assuming she doesn't mind the ship."

"She was a ship's cat, she's as happy on water as land. Though she might enjoy a trip to Loki and Syn more. They give her food she doesn't have to hunt."

"He's going to steal that cat from you if you're not careful."

"I've told him to go to Norway and get his own but he likes her." She shrugged. "Tyv's loyal, for a cat. I'd get her back eventually."

"It's entirely up to you." He finally released her hand. "I have a bit of paperwork to do, before tomorrow."

Her hand felt oddly cold and almost foreign without his wrapped around it. She resisted the urge to shake it out or touch it with her other hand. "I think I'll go check out the book shop before I head home." She gave him a crooked smile. "Thank you for an interesting afternoon."

"Thank you for coming along. I'll see you on the ship?"

She nodded. "See you there. Take care, Steve," she added, stepped away to head to the bookstore.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _On the Cataloging of Weaknesses_


	7. On the Cataloging of Weaknesses

Some missions Steve went on required the use of the airship, but he was glad he had chosen the steamship for this. She'd been put into dry-dock for a refit in the wake of the sinking of the Titanic, and this would be his first mission on her since she'd been put back into service.

When she was built in 1908, she'd been the fastest ship on the seas. He'd been heavily involved in the process of getting her built, but his team had managed to surprise him, on the day of her launch, by christening her the _USS Adrasteia_. He wasn't her captain, but this was his ship.

He saw Charlie and Finch when they boarded, but was busy with the captain when the rest showed up. He found Jo on deck after they'd pulled out of port. She was dressed in trousers and a men's shirt, hair tied back in a queue, leaning on the rail and watching New York grow smaller.

"There you are. Sorry I wasn't here to welcome you aboard."

She turned and smiled when she saw him. "It's all right. Found my bunk just fine. Finch said to talk to you when I ranted about the bed."

He grinned. "We have another hammock, I'll come string it up."

"I appreciate that. It's like the steam made people forget what boats actually are." She looked down at the water churning against the side of the ship. "It's nice to be on the water again."

"It is my favorite part of any mission. Even without the sails."

She grinned and glanced behind them. "Still has the rigging, though."

"Steamships all have masts. Crow's nest, radio wires. Emergency sails, even." He looked down at her. "Barton and I used to race to the top. He used to beat me as often as not, too. He never sailed, he's just really good at climbing things."

She tipped her head back to look at the nest, then glanced at him with a smile he could only call mischievous. "Fancy a race?"

He looked down at her and grinned. "Lady, you're on."

They hurried to the mast like excited kids. He even thought he might have heard her giggle a little. They each picked a spot and took a hold of the ropes. He met her gaze and mouthed "Three. . . two. . . one." And they started climbing.

She was fast, he'd give her that. He had reach and strength on her, so he took an early lead and kept it. She stayed within a few feet of him, though. And she was absolutely fearless, like a good rigger should be, finding grips and footholds with ease.

He just barely beat her to the top. He heaved himself up onto the yardarm, and for a moment, time unwound. The great smoke-bellowing stacks were behind them, so all he could see in front of him was ocean, just like when he'd sailed a hundred years ago.

She perched next to him, looking as relaxed as if they were lounging on a bench in Central Park. The tie had fallen out of her queue and her hair blew wild in the wind. She grinned at him and he could see she was thinking the same as him. Some things were timeless, like wind and water and sky.

"When this is over, you should come see my summer house," he said.

"I didn't know you have a summer home. Where?"

"Nantucket. Actually a smaller island off Nantucket. It's really more of a cabin or possibly even a shack. But it is on the beach, and you have to sail there."

She grinned and lifted hand to sweep the hair out of her eyes. "It's a date."

"We can fish and dig for clams. Eat them by candle and kerosene. It has neither electricity nor gas nor plumbing. Bathe in the sea."

Her gaze snapped from the horizon to his face. She studied him a moment then gave him her shy smile. "Sounds heavenly."

"I just want to state for the record that I'd like to hold your hand. But we're both decades out of practice up here and I'm pretty sure if either of us lets go of the yardarm we'll fall. But the thought is there. Just so you know."

"I will consider my hand held," she told him, laughing a little. "Shall we head down?"

"Yes." He turned and grinned. "Maybe when we hit the Mediterranean we can go for a swim."

"I look forward to that," she murmured, almost too quiet for him to hear. She grabbed the rigging and swung off the yardarm, scrambling down the ropes.

When they hit the deck he reached out to tuck her now wild hair behind her ears. He was used to being significantly taller than every woman he met. He had a full foot on Nat. He'd had about the same on Margaret. At the time, he'd liked that she was little. But right now he loved that in a good pair of heels Jo would look him in the eye. Even without her supernatural strength, he wouldn't worry about breaking her.

For a second he thought she might say something. Possibly pop up on her toes and kiss him. But then some of the crew started to come over to slap them on the back and the moment was over.

*

After a week crossing the Atlantic, they sailed into the Mediterranean, and then dropped anchor in the Adriatic Sea off the coast of Italy to await further instructions. Jo was up on the deck enjoying the warm air when Steve came to find her. "I was thinking of taking the tender out for a bit, maybe do a little swimming."

She was unable to help the grin that spread across her face. "Were you hoping for company?" she asked innocently.

"You had expressed an interest, so as a gentleman I am extending an invitation."

"Well, then. I'd be delighted." She was extremely grateful she'd taken to wearing Stark's undergarment contraption while on the ship. It was study and covering enough she could swim in it without giving anyone an eyeful.

She went back to cabin for a hat. When she returned, he already had the tender lowered, and they climbed a ladder down to it. He'd packed them a jug of water and some sort of snack in a basket. 

"That's quite a hat," he commented.

There was a great deal of women's fashion she disliked—the puffy sleeves that had been the rage when she’d left for the Yukon came to mind—but Jo adored hats. The larger and more ornate the better. The one she currently had on had an obscenely wide brim and a white plume. "I love this hat," she informed him.

"It's looks like it provides a lot of shade," he said as he started to row them away from the _Adrasteia_.

"It does." She let an arm drape over the side of the boat and let her fingers trail in the water. "If you get flushed you could get under here with me."

He grinned widely. "I will keep that in mind."

The ship shrank as Steve took them closer to shore, eventually finding an inlet with a rocky coast but smooth water. She squinted back at the _Adrasteia_ but couldn't clearly make out anyone on deck. She assumed that meant they were equally hard to pick out.

He tossed over a small anchor and looked up at the ship as well. Without comment, he stood up and pulled his shirt up over his head. She did not consider herself an innocent. Three hundred years—often as the only woman surrounded by men—she had seen more naked chests, asses, and cocks then she could count. It took a lot to impress her anymore. But it was without a hint of hyperbole that she decided Steve Rogers had the most perfect body on earth. Not bulky, not overly muscled. Just. . . perfect. Her mouth went dry and she found herself bending to unlace her boots just so she wouldn't stare. She did notice he had no shoes on—she'd noticed he did that a lot on the ship. Habits of a man from the age of sail. Then the boat rocked as he dove into the water.

She tugged her boots off and stripped herself of her trousers, leaving her in short cotton bloomers. Steve had broken through the surface of the water, waiting for her to join him, expression all but daring her to be shy. She had never been one to back down from a challenge, so she stood, dropped her hat onto her seat and peeled her shirt off, leaving her in the brassiere that Stark had made for her. It left everything but her breasts bare to her waist, revealing the long white scar that ran vertically up her abdomen. She shook her hair out and dove into the water next to him.

The water was still cooler than the air, so it was a small shock—but it felt good. When she came up, he was treading water beside her. "Hello."

She used a hand to slick her hair back, off her face, and smiled. "Hi."

He stretched his arms out and floated on his back, allowing her to stare at his chest some more, if she so chose. "This is heaven," he said.

Well, if he was going to put it on display who was she to ignore him? "I've never been to Italy before," she admitted.

"You should, when we're not on mission. The art is amazing."

"Ah, Steve. You know my weakness already."

He looked over at her. "Do I?" he asked quietly.

Considering he was rapidly becoming one it certainly felt like he did. "More then anyone else."

He shifted so he was treading water again. She noticed up close that he'd acquired a bit of scruff on his jaw, but he was blond so it was hard to see. Many rules relaxed at sea. Shoes. Shaving. Modesty. "Art. Sailing. Penny Dreadfuls. Your cat. Fried pastries."

"Hats," she offered softly. He was close enough to touch. Close enough his gaze felt like caress, heating her skin despite the cool water.

"You know I was once in a circus sideshow, too? So we have that in common."

That startled a laugh from her. "I didn't know that. Being a strongman?"

"No. When I was still a block of ice. They put me in a refrigerated car and stuck a sign over me. I don't remember it, but that's what Stark tells me."

She didn't think much about the fact he'd been frozen. How disorienting it must have been, one moment in a winter storm, the next waking up in a different world, with everyone he knew long gone. It was, in its way, as bad as anything she'd endured.  
 She lifted a hand and touched his jaw lightly with her fingertips, feeling the light scrape of the stubble. "Not icy now," she told him.

He turned his face into her hand a little bit. "No. This is quite warm."

His breath skittered across her wrist, sending a tingling heat through her. She flattened her palm against him, tangling her fingers in his hair. "Well. . . this far south. They say the sun is closer. . ."

She could see him swallow, as he turned to look at her. "Jo. . ."

Based on his tone she was pretty sure she didn't want to know the rest of that sentence. Not right now, anyway. So she used her grip on him to pull herself a little closer and kissed him. She felt as much as heard him sigh, and then he wrapped one arm around her, pulling her against his body. The other came up to cup the back of her neck.

Relief flooded her and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She was still idly treading water, but it was mostly him holding her up. It was a new sensation, being held by someone honestly stronger then her. Holding some one she couldn't hurt accidentally. He was warm and hard against her, rock solid and safe. She opened her mouth to his tongue, tasting him, getting lost in the kiss.

She didn't know how long they kissed—long enough they finally had to stop for air. He rested his forehead against hers. "I've wanted to do that for a while," he whispered. "I'm just really bad with girls."

Sometimes he was honestly so sweet it hurt. She smiled and kissed him lightly. "This girl thinks you're doing just fine," she said softly.

"Well. She's the only one that matters."

She trailed her fingers along the top of his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his slick skin. "I'm really glad I came along now."

"So I am I," he replied, and he leaned in to kiss her again.

It became apparent fairly quickly that they weren't going to get much swimming done and treading water could exhaust even superhuman legs eventually. So Jo got the absolute pleasure of watching Steve haul himself back into the tender, water running down muscle like some sort of Greek god rising from the surf.

Kissing in the boat was much easier then in the water.

He'd moved the plank seats so they could lay on the bottom of the boat and let the sun dry them. Eventually she propped her hat over both of their faces and they dozed, her head on his shoulder and her arm across his chest. They were alone in this little boat, she thought as she drifted. A different man would push this, fish for whatever he could get. Especially given they were both half undressed already. 

She didn't know if was patience, or shyness. . . but it was nice.

Eventually the sun began to dip and they stirred, now dry and a little stiff from the boat bottom. They drank some of the water and split the crackers and cheese he'd packed. Then they slowly dressed in preparation for going back to the main ship. She stole one last long, heady kiss from him before they started back.

When they reached the ship and climbed up the rope ladders, Charlie was waiting on the deck for them. "Orders came in. We're going in in the morning." He smirked. "I told Aunt Nat you were fishing. Completely alone and away from the ship where I could not see you. And also that I couldn't locate Jo, but that I was certain she was somewhere on the ship because, as I said, you were fishing alone." 

Steve rubbed his forehead. "Thanks, Charlie."

He pointed at Jo. "You should rinse your underthing in fresh water. Assuming you were of course wearing it, if *I* were having a ren-—”

"Charles Robert Stark," Steve said. "You are dismissed. Go back to your workshop. Now."

Charlie's eyes widened a little and he turned on his heel and walked away and a relatively rapid pace. Jo covered her mouth with a hand to stifle the laughter.

He gave her a sideways look. "I. . .am sorry. About that. He's just. . ." She realized he might be blushing. "How about I walk you to your cabin?"

"That would be lovely. Apparently I have some things to rinse out."

He chuckled, and offered her his arm. It wasn't until they were below decks that he spoke. "I would like to do this properly. But frankly I have no clue what stands for proper these days."

She leaned into him. "Neither do I. I'm struggling to think of anyone we could ask, either. I suppose for now the responsible thing to do would be to focus on the mission."

"Figure it out when we get back to New York?"

"Part of me feels like it's forever to wait. But the rest of me knows we have plenty of time. Besides, sex in a hammock is really awkward." She paused and glanced up at him. "I've heard."

His face turned red. "I didn't. . . I mean. . .I wasn't. . " He cleared his throat. "I have heard that, too."

They'd reached her bunk and she stopped, turning to face him. "Maybe. . . maybe we should just plan on visiting your summer home when we're back in the states. And then we just see what happens?"

He looked down at her. "Might I still kiss you in the meantime?"

She lifted a hand and flattened it on his chest, rubbing the soft fabric of his shirt. "I'd like that."

"Good," he said, and leaned down to do just that. Her hand fisted on his shirt and he backed her up a step to press her into the door. Bad with girls he might be—and based on all the blushing she was starting to believe that—this he was very, very good at.

"Okay," he finally murmured against her mouth. "Go. You have rinsing to do."

And she had just been thinking about hammocks and logistics. She nodded. "Right." He leaned away as she reached behind herself to open her door. "I'll see you later," she said.

He waved a little, and turned to walk down the hall.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _A Series of Unfortunate Discoveries_


	8. A Series of Unfortunate Discoveries

All Military operations were the same. Long stretches of waiting and boredom punctuated by brief moments of action and blind terror. They'd needed to be in place hours in advance of the exchange to ensure their concealment. Which gave Steve plenty of time to sit. And wait.

They others were spread out around the old Roman ruins the buy was supposed to take place in. Charlie was off to his left somewhere, in the latest version of the suit, camouflaged among the trees. Finch had taken the high ground with his rifle, ready to spot stragglers. Mac was across the courtyard, waiting for the signal. And down on Steve's left was Jo.

He was trying to not get distracted thinking about how she'd looked in her battle gear, strapped with gun holsters, pale blonde hair hidden under a wool cap. He had never thought he'd be attracted to a warrior woman. Margaret had been strong, but not exactly someone you'd take into battle.

When they were standing in that boxing ring in Illinois, he found the prospect of having that fistfight arousing. He'd made an effort not to think about it too much—at the time it seemed rude. Now he was wondering if he ought to see if they could find time for a rematch. Pretty sure it was going to end in a draw, though. 

The ship had a gym. They could lock the door. Maybe after the mission-

There was movement on the field and he forced himself to focus. Later. He could think about boxing later. 

Two groups of men walked into the open area. One group carried a large crate. The other a small package. That had to be the painting. He lifted a hand, gesturing for Charlie, Jo and Mac to move forward. He crept forward himself, sticking to cover in an attempt not to spook the enemy. He didn't want bullets flying before they were ready.

He spotted Jo as they neared the two groups. She was crouched behind a toppled pillar, handgun ready. She spotted him, too, and winked. 

The crate was set down and opened. Out of it was lifted a huge gun, of a kind Steve hadn't seen in twenty years. An alien race had invaded London, living machines that were like a very advanced version of the Iron Man suit, only with nothing inside. This particular weapon had protruded from the center of the largest automatons. It had the destructive force of a Rail Gun, but could be carried by a single man. He didn't know any of them had made it out of London, and he'd been chasing these weapons for years. This was not good. He caught Jo's eye again, and gave the signal to move.

She nodded and braced a hand on the downed pillar, vaulting over it. She was fast, probably faster them him, being smaller. She was on one of the buyers in a blink, taking him down with a blow to the temple before moving onto the next. Charlie came bursting out of cover in the same instant, distracting the others from firing immediately.

It was over in moments, neither group being large, and they'd started to fire on each other, and yell about who had caused the ambush. 

"Weapons down," Steve shouted at them. "I've got two snipers in the trees. Nobody else needs to die."

There was a heartbeat of utter silence and stillness while they all considered their options. Slowly, both groups started to lower their weapons to the ground.

Except for one idiot who started to, then whipped it up, aiming right for Steve. He lifted the shield just as Jo slammed a foot into the other man's knee and yanked the gun out of his hands forcibly. The guy went down, moaning and holding his leg.

Steve was going to examine exactly how sexy that was later, as well.

He walked over to look at the gun, while the head Italian glared at him. "Where did you get this?"

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Steve gestured at Charlie in the suit. "Really?"

"This is none of your concern," the Italian replied, managing to sound almost indignant.

"It very much is our concern, as these are not for sale. And you're trading them for a stolen painting."

"The Mona Lisa belongs to Italy."

He sighed. "You'll have to take that up with the French."

"Leave us our weapons, and we will."

Steve folded his arms over his chest. "You were selling your weapons to those people." He hooked a thumb and the buyers, who Jo had mostly laying on the ground. "They're terrorists."

"They're our weapons, we can do with them as we please. Our agreement said nothing about reselling them."

"Your agreement with who?" Charlie asked, voice metallic in the suit.

The Italian waved his hand. "I forget the man's name. The Brit. With your Shield."

Steve looked up at Charlie, then back at the Italian. "You got these _from_ Shield?"

"The originals, yes."

All right. He would have to deal with that later. "Well, now they're coming with us. Would you prefer to leave peacefully or should I have someone shoot you?"

The Italian narrowed his eyes, studying him as if he was trying to decide if he was serious or not. Charlie sighed and shifted, making a show of reloading the machine gun on his shoulder. To Steve's left he heard Jo spin the cylinder on her revolver. The Italian cleared his throat. "Leaving peacefully sounds appealing."

He gestured with his shield, and the group fled. Then he turned to look at the group Jo was holding. "Any of you speak English?"

The one holding his knee lifted his head. "Some," he replied. "Whatchu want?"

"I see you again, she'll shoot you," he said, inclining his head towards Jo.

She waved brightly at the man when he glanced at her. "Got it, boss," he said.

He picked up the wrapped painting, and tucked it under his arm. "We're also taking this. Charlie, get the gun."

"On it," he said, hauling it up on his shoulder before taking off towards the trees again. Jo stepped over one of the men she'd dealt with on her way to Steve's side.

He looked down at her. "We should get back. It seems we've got a problem." She nodded and headed the way Charlie had gone. Steve signaled to Mac and Finch to head back as well and just like that they were done.

When they got back on the ship, he asked Charlie to meet him in the radio room, and kicked the operator out. He needed to send as encoded and secure a message as possible. "Your father has some sort of super cipher, I've seen him use it before, years ago. Do you know it, and was it ever shared with Shield?"

"I do. Sort of. I have a code book. Shield doesn't know about it, it's a hobby. Based on some old indian language Uncle Clint speaks. There's only like three people alive who can read it."

"Go get the book, right now."

Charlie hesitated. "This is really bad, isn't it?" he asked.

He rubbed his eyes. "Yes. It's really bad."

He nodded and ran out of the room without another word. When he returned he had a notebook full of writing in both Tony and Clint's handwriting.

It took them some time to figure out a message using the list of words in the book. Charlie transmitted it. "It's nighttime over there, and it may take them a little while to decode it. I will tell the radiomen to alert us when there's a reply, but it will probably be quite a while."

Charlie went to his lab to go tinker with whatever it was he was working on. It seemed to be how Starks dealt with stress. Steve wasn't sure what to do with himself while he waited.

He passed the gym on the way to his bunk but paused when he heard the sound of fists hitting a punching bag. He pushed it open, to find Jo inside. "You look at the painting?"

"I may have snuck a peek while you were busy."

He stepped into the gym, closing the door behind him. "You think it's the real thing?"

She stopped her punching and stepped away from the bag. "Never seen it before, but I'm as sure as I can be. It's smaller than I thought it would be."

"I thought the same the first time I saw it." He went over to the cabinet to get some tape for his hands. "I went wandering around Europe a bit, seeing the sites. Ten years ago or so."

"You've been holding out on me, Rogers." She watched him wrap his hands, then asked quietly, "You okay?"

"I. . . I don't know. We work with them, we share intel. Why are they selling weapons _no one_ should have to countries they are allied against? If you'd seen what these weapons can do. . ."

"I saw the newspapers," she offered, walking to stand in the middle of the room. She'd stripped out of most of her battle gear, down to the slacks and what looked like a man's undershirt. Her cap was gone, hair up in a messy, haphazard bun. 

Since she seemed to have abandoned the punching bag, he took his turn. Maybe if he hit it hard enough, he'd feel better. "Before we broke off into our own unit, my team used to work for Shield. They recruited us all. I can't say I ever entirely trusted them, or the man in charge at the time. Echoes of my past or just that he was shady." He punched the bag again. "Our liaison or manager or supervisor or such was a man named Coulson. The most buttoned up proper British man you ever met. He let us go off the reservation if we needed to, even fought with us. He's the Director over there now. He was _at_ the battle of London, I can can't believe he'd allow this. Nothing makes sense."

"I like your team. I don't know Natasha well, but I believe she has good intentions. I bet Shield does, too. But sometimes all good intentions do is give you something to hide behind when you cross the line. They'll tell you there's a good reason for it. Just like they had a good reason for experimenting on you. Like all the good reasons they had for doing what they did to me."

Steve stopped his punching, but didn't look at her. "I saw the scar."

The sentence hung in the air a moment. The silence went on long enough he hit the bag again. Finally she spoke, voice quiet, "They cut me open. To see what would happen. Vivisection, it's called, I looked it up later. Left me like that for a few days. I'm still not sure how long, I kept passing out."

He stopped, completely still, holding the punching bag so it didn't swing. "Jesus."

"There was a man. Caleb. First one I'd let get close in a century." He heard her footsteps, then she appeared on the other side of the bag. "He found me sort of like you did, when I was doing some underground boxing for extra money. Took him a long time to get through all my walls. When I finally told him about the stone and what it had done he convinced me to come see some people he knew who studied this kind of thing." Her mouth twisted and she looked down. "When he was helping strap me down he said 'No hard feelings,love. Just part of the job."'

"No wonder you didn't want to come in the building," he said. He looked up at her. "Why did you trust me?"

She blew out a breath, then smiled a little. "Since Caleb I've gotten better about knowing when I'm getting played. You have a particular way of smiling. . . there's no artifice to it. It's entirely genuine. Figured you, at least, meant what you said about just wanting to help. Then when I got to know you I realized you wouldn't let anyone hurt someone you. . . considered a friend."

"I would not let anyone hurt you," he replied, with more emotion than was probably needed. Then, maybe not.

Her face changed a little and for an instant he thought he saw tears in her eyes. She nodded, then looked down again. After a moment she shrugged. "Besides, if they wanted to cut someone open they've had you for twenty years and resisted the urge."

"We've fought and bled together. We've seen some unbelievable things. Some awful, some wonderful, some just. . .bizarre. I trust these people with my life."

She put a hand on the bag, gave it a little shove so it swung gently. "I don't know if I can ever be like that again," she said softly. "I may be too broken."

"I've seen worse," he replied.

"That is both terrifying and oddly reassuring."

"Some people are slower than others. But trust can be earned. Eventually you just sort of have to, I guess. Like I said, I never quite trusted Shield. But I did get to trust my team."

She was quiet a moment. "Well. Maybe there's hope for me yet."

"People get drinking, telling stories. Eventually figured out nearly all of us had been orphaned young, and absolutely no one had had a childhood that was normal or even healthy. You'd think we'd all be nuts, but we sort of became family."

"You make it sound very appealing," she admitted. "Though I will note my actual childhood wasn't that bad."

"I was always sick, when I was little. I was this little scrawny thing. I was born early and very tiny. In the middle of a hot summer, else I'm sure I would have died. My brothers beat me up. But my mother coddled me. Then my father died, she remarried, and my stepfather thought I was worse than useless. I left before he could throw me out."

"That's when you joined the Navy?" she asked.

"Seemed the thing to do. I always loved the ocean."

She spun the punching bag, watching the chains tangle a moment before looking back at him. "Do you regret it? Looking back?"

"Not the Navy, and not the stone."

That seemed to surprise her, he could see it in her face. She reached out and touched his arm with light fingers. "I know the getting stuck in ice wasn't exactly part of the plan. I'm sorry you missed so many years."

He looked down at her hand. "Sometimes, so am I. In the early days it was pretty unbearable. But you have to take life as it is. Would my life have been better? Maybe. Maybe it would have been worse. I do know I'd have been facing my long life and lack of aging alone. No Asgardian friends, no one to explain why I was like this." He looked at her face. "Though someday maybe I'd have still found you." 

She smiled, the soft, shy one. "I guess the world gets pretty small when you have thousands of years to wander it." She glanced down at her hand on his arm, but didn't move it. "Maybe we would have ended up in the sideshow together."

He turned his arm and slid it back until he could grasp her hand, lifting it up and kissing her knuckles. "World's Strongest Man and Woman. Only honest act in the sideshow."

Her breath came out in a little rush and he swore she was blushing. "I still owe you a rematch," she said softly.

"Not tonight. I'm angry and I don't want to punch you when I'm angry." He frowned. "God, that sounded terrible. I don't generally want to punch you when I'm not angry, I just. . .you know what I mean." He wondered if he looked as embarrassed as he felt.

"No. Anger isn't the emotion that comes to mind when I think of tangling with you." She stretched up on her toes and kissed him, soft and sweet. "I'm going to go wash up. I hope you get good news, soon."

"You made me feel better," he told her. "Even if I don't."

"I'm glad." She touched his cheek gently, then stepped away, heading for the door.

Steve turned, and started punching the bag.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _From Bad to Worse to Really Quite Pleasant to a Little Bit Melancholy at the End_


	9. From Bad to Worse to Really Quite Pleasant to a Little Bit Melancholy at the End

Jo didn't see much of Steve for the rest of the trip back to the States. When she did see him he was generally doing manual labor or running laps around the ship at too quick a pace to chat. She ran with him a few times anyway, just for the companionship. His brief smile seemed to indicate he appreciated the effort. She understood, she channeled stress into sweat as well. She drew the line at swabbing the deck with him, though. She'd be quite content to never do that again. All in all, it was a far cry from what the light, flirty, carefree trip out had been.

For the first time in her life, she was glad to pull into port. She was looking forward to her own bed and her cat. She hoped once they were back home, with his support team Steve would get some answers. She knew first hand how deep betrayal could cut. She wouldn't have ever wished it on him.

She was waiting at the rail for them to put the gangplank down so they could disembark when he came up next to her. "They asked Charlie and I to come to the office straight from here. There's a carriage waiting. Everyone else can go home, come in for a briefing in the morning."

She turned to look at him. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then. Maybe we can get lunch after the meeting."

Steve smiled. "I would love that."

The gangplank was lowered and Steve actually grabbed her bag before she could, carrying it down to the dock for her. There was a crowd—including a very interested looking Charlie—so she couldn't kiss him goodbye. He did give her another toe curling smile when he handed her bag over. "Good luck," she said softly, not sure what else would be appropriate.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and then he got in his carriage.

She watched it drive off before hiking her bag higher and heading to the street to hail a taxi.

When she'd first come to New York she'd spent a couple weeks in a hotel, certain she was going to get back on the road as soon as possible. Friendship with Steve had derailed those plans and after idly remarking she might want to stay in the city a while he had pulled whatever strings he'd had and she'd found herself with an apartment and Anja dragging her furniture shopping.

It was a little gable apartment in an older building right on the edge of the nicer part of town. Parts of the ceiling sloped low enough she had to duck and her kitchen was designed like a puzzle piece, but it had a wall of windows with a glorious view of the city. It was odd and quirky and suited her and Tyv nicely.

She dropped her bag by her closet and started to strip. A bath, a snack and maybe to bed early. She could call and bug Loki about her cat later.

While she was soaking in her bath, some weather kicked up outside, heavy rain battering the windows. She got out when the water cooled, put on a robe and went in search of food.

In the living room, Tyv was sitting on the windowsill. The cat scurried over when she saw her and Jo crouched to pet her. "Hello, little thief. Did you have a nice vacation?" Thunder crashed outside, rattling her windows and she frowned, a trickle of unease running down her spine. Sudden storm. Loki dropping the cat off without a word. Something about that didn't sit right with her.

Tyv wound through her legs, purring loudly. "Come. We'll see what we have to eat, _ja_?"

She had some dinner and fed Tyv. It was dark out now, but she found herself too restless to go to bed. The pounding on her door, when it came, was almost a relief. She wrapped her robe tighter around herself as she headed to the door and pulled it open. 

Steve was standing on the other side, soaking wet. "Is it too late?"

"No. Of course not." She stepped back so he could come in. "What's happened?"

He stayed on the tile by the door because he was dripping. "Circumstantial evidence all points to the Italian being correct. Shield is selling the supposedly locked away alien weapons to the highest bidder."

She crossed her arms to keep from hugging him and getting her robe soaked. "Steve, I'm so sorry. I have some wine from the last time Syn visited. . ."

"That sounds excellent. And maybe a towel?"

"Of course." She left him there to retrieve her spare towel from the linen closet tucked between her room and the bath. He took it with a weak smile and she headed into the kitchen for the wine bottle and glasses.

He had made it to her living room by the time she got back. Tyv was taking up the entirety of Jo's arm chair, so she set the glasses on the end table and gestured for him to join her on the couch, opening the bottle. "She said it was from whatever planet—realm—she's from. Something called blade fruit." She poured a healthy glass and held it out to him.

"Alfheim," he replied. "She says hello, by the way. She and Loki are here."

"They dropped Tyv off without a word." Syn might have hesitated to interrupt her in the bath but she was fairly certain Loki wouldn't have cared. "I assume from the weather that Thor is here too?" And in a bad mood, given the wind.

"Nat called Coulson in London to find out what was going on. For a while people stonewalled, and when she threatened to come over there, they told her he was dead."

Jo felt a deep pang for him, watching him take a gulp of his wine. On top of everything else going on his worst fear had finally come true. She reached over and touched his knee. "Steve, I'm so sorry."

"They wouldn't tell Nat anything else. She's going down to Washington in the morning, to see if they can get some answers through proper diplomatic channels. President Taft was very skeptical of her, but apparently Wilson seems a little more accommodating, though he's too new to have much pull overseas, so who knows." He tiled his head back. "Coulson was sixty. Maybe it was natural causes."

"Do you think that's likely? Given the circumstances?"

"It's suspicious as hell. Which is preferable? That he was evil or that he was murdered?"

Not the best choice, she had to admit. She rubbed his knee through his soaked trousers. "I would think for your peace of mind, in remembering him, 'not evil' is probably slightly better."

"But it does make me a whole different level of angry."

"Yeah," she said softly. "But if anyone can figure out who the appropriate person is to punch in retaliation, it's Natasha."

He leaned forward, rubbing his eyes. "We had a whole meeting, and then at the end it was decided it was best for everyone to go home an be with their families. And I. . . you know. . ." He sighed. "Maybe I should get a cat."

She moved her hand to rub his back in slow circles, then put her untouched wine down to use both hands on his shoulders. "I'd have pegged you for a dog guy," she teased gently.

"Probably. Though cats live longer." He looked down. "I'm sorry, I'm getting your couch all wet."

"Don't worry about the couch. What can I do to help? I'm afraid I don't have a punching bag here."

That made him chuckle. "We do have a thing with those, don't we?"

"I've always turned emotional upheaval into physical exertion. It's why I did the whaling and prospecting. It's amazing the problems you can solve working up a sweat."

"I don't imagine you have any dry clothes that would fit me."

She braced a hand on his shoulder and stood. "Actually, I might. Pants at least. Come on." He got up slowly and followed her deeper into the apartment. "This is the washroom. Feel free to take a shower if you want to warm up. I'll leave some clothes outside the door for you."

He grinned. "Showers, I have to tell you, are a _marvelous_ invention."

It was a relief to see the grin. "I could not agree more. Plumbing in general, really."

He stood there for a moment, then he leaned down and gave her a quick, gentle kiss. She lifted a hand and touched his face, feeling the light scrape of stubble on his jaw. Her cheeks felt hot when he lifted his head and she felt silly for having such a reaction to a simple kiss. "I'll go . . . I should look for the clothes."

"Thank you," he said softly, and then ducked into the washroom.

After a few moments the water cranked on and she strode into her room to keep from picturing him naked and standing in the spray. Her armoire was a bit chaotic and she took her time sorting through, digging out some of her older clothes, ones from the Yukon, men's things purchased in the West and adjusted to fit her. The pants would almost certainly be too short on him, but the waist might work. She had less hope for the shirts, he was broader then most men. She tossed an undershirt onto the stack of slacks on the off chance he could squeeze into it and left the whole pile outside the door as she'd promised. 

She went back out to the living room to wait for him but was too fidgety to sit. She took her wine glass to her windows and watched the rain come down. It made her think of the shower Steve was taking and an image of him pulling himself out of the ocean, water streaming down the lines of muscle in his back, came suddenly to mind. Her skin heated at the memory and she took a long drink of the sweet, rich wine, as if that would chase it away.

The water turned off, and then a few moments later the door cracked open and he reached out to pull the clothes inside. When he came out, he had only the too-short pants on. "I look silly, don't I?"

There was no point in trying to hide her smile. "A little. Pity we're not on your island now, they'd be perfect for clam digging."

He chuckled. "Well. It's still better than the wet ones."

She thought the shirtless look was a vast, if distracting, improvement. Didn't seem appropriate to mention that, though. "Are you hungry? The pantry is a little bare but I could probably put together some sort of snack. . ."

"I don't want to impose. . ." He started.

Which, of course, meant yes. She waved off whatever else he planned to say and lead him to the kitchen. She'd picked up a loaf of bread on her way home from the boat. That, plus some jam and canned fruit seemed to satisfy him. "I need to stock up tomorrow," she said apologetically.

"This is wonderful." He was making himself some sort of fruit sandwich. "Canned food just blew me away. Fruit and green vegetables in the winter? Far cry from a whole winter of potatoes and salt pork."

She leaned against her counter and watched him. "I'm still amazed I can just go to the shop down the corner and get all the food I need. Do you know how often Norway had famines when I was there? There was one about a decade before I left, probably the worst I saw. A good number of neighbors died. It's how I found out how long I could go without food." She made a face and shook her head. "God. I don't think it's us. I think the past is just damned depressing."

"The modern world is amazing. It used to frighten me, but eventually I learned to take in its wonders."

"I think on the whole it's better. And will continue to get better." She smiled. "On good days I look forward to what I'll see next."

He finished his sandwich and put his dish in her sink. "Do you have a line I can hang my clothes on? I don't think going out on the street like this is a good idea." He grinned at her. "You may be stuck with me."

"I'm sure I'd think of something to do with you." The words came out a little huskier then she'd intended and she felt her cheek heat again. She rubbed the back of her neck. "I'll get the line set up," she muttered, heading for the closet.

He followed her and waited for her to string the line in the kitchen. "The best things in the future are always a surprise," he commented as he pinned up his clothes.

It was very hard to follow the train of thought while watching the muscles in his arms, back, and shoulders move as he hung the clothes. One kissing session on a boat and she was acting like a teenager. It was so unlike her. In the last few years she'd treated sex like a bodily function. Like hunger or sleep. How like her to change that for a living statue that was bad with girls.

He was looking at her as if he expected an answer. What had they been talking about? "Surprises. Yes. I certainly wouldn't have predicted half of it."

His smile was teasing. "Am I boring you?"

"No! No. I'm sorry. I was just. . . distracted."

He leaned a hip against the stove, crossed his arms over his chest, and raised an eyebrow.

She rubbed a hand over her eyes. Well, she had never been one to beat around the bush. "You're shirtless in my kitchen. I'm having very . . . explicit thoughts about you that normally I would act on, but you're having a rather awful day and it seems rude."

Steve chuckled and looked down, and she could see he was blushing just a little. "I think this is one of those men and women are different things. Most of us would tell you that a day involving the apocalypse with a side of smallpox and a leg amputation could still probably be improved with good enough sex."

_Well in that case. . ._ She took one step, then another, until she'd closed the distance between them. "I had this mental image of trying to kiss you and you getting offended at my timing and it being horribly awkward." His arms were still crossed in front of him and she lifted her hands to tug them down. "Maybe I'm not as good with men as I thought I was."

He let her pull them, and instead wrapped them around her waist, "If there's any awkwardness, it's my fault. I've never been with a woman I didn't. . ." he cleared his throat. "Purchase."

She grinned, resting her arms on his shoulders and twining her fingers into his still damp hair. There were half a dozen flip things she wanted to say. But he was still blushing and obviously nervous, so she just said quietly, "That doesn't make it awkward. It makes it better."

He cupped her cheek, turned her face up. "How?"

Jo had slept with two men she loved, dozens she barely knew and a handful somewhere in between. She didn't consider herself an expert by any means, but she could, at least, speak from experience. "Because emotion makes it matter more. It's not just trying to get off, fulfilling a need. There's . . . fun. And laughing. And experimenting. There's the promise of a second night or a third or a tenth. So you pay attention to what's working and what isn't and anticipate all the things you can try next time."

"Next time," he murmured. "I like that." Then he dipped his head and kissed her. She sank against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, hands still in his hair. He was so delightfully big and warm and solid against her. He tasted of tart wine and sweet jam and she was utterly intoxicated.

He broke the kiss earlier than she wanted, to lift his head and say an astonished, "I won't hurt you." It didn't sound like a promise to her—but something he'd just realized.

She grinned and gave his hair a light tug. "And I won't hurt you," she agreed. Sex without having to constantly monitor her strength, now there was a novelty. He kissed her again, fiercely, backing her up into the wall behind her, which she hit with a thud that probably cracked the plaster.

She groaned, blood heating at the change in him. Her nails scraped his scalp as she held his mouth to hers, kiss rough and possessive. He undid her robe, and pushed it off her shoulders. Just like that she was naked in her kitchen. He leaned back to study her and the look on his face made her shudder. The hand that cupped her breast was warm and callused, big enough to cover the entire globe. She could feel her nipple tighten against his palm.

He bent his head to kiss along the curve of her neck. "Bed?"

Excellent idea, as she wasn't certain her legs were going to hold her much longer. "Yes. This way." She pushed off the wall and caught his hand to lead him to the bedroom. He just narrowly missed walking into the door frame, as he was so clearly busy staring.

Once in her room she closed the door to keep Tyv from coming to investigate and turned to him. She'd left a lamp on after rummaging for clothes and he was bathed in warm yellow light, highlighted by deep shadow. He really was like something out of a myth or piece of artwork. Only he was real and breathing and looking at her like he wanted to devour her.  
 She hooked and finger in the waist of his slacks and dragged him close before snapping the top button open on the fly. It went flying in her haste, pinging against the wood floor and she couldn't help but laugh a little. What the hell, they were her pants, she could destroy them if she wanted.

"Now you're really stuck with me," he murmured.

She ran a hand up his stomach, nails trailing against his skin. "Good."

His muscles flinched under her touch as he took an unsteady breath. Then he seemed to remember how to move, and he reached out to pull her closer, trapping her hands between them. He kissed her thoroughly, letting his hands wander over her skin. This, this is what was better about sex with emotion behind it. Taking their time, exploring, playing. The dichotomy of desperate need and tender caring. It had been so very long since she'd wanted anyone the way she wanted him.

Her fingers fumbled on the rest of his buttons and a few more ended up on the floor. Finally, she'd loosened enough she could slide her hands beneath that fabric and shove the pants down his legs. She felt him shift so he could kick them off. Then, to her surprise, he actually lifted her in his arms, and carried her the few steps to the bed. He set her down on the covers, and stretched out beside her.

Then it was her turn to explore him. Her hands mapped him, tracing lines of muscle, the arc of his hip. She kissed his jaw, ran her tongue along the tendon in his throat, tasting the salt of his skin.

"I think you might be the best of the future's surprises," he told her. 

The words warmed her from the inside out and she felt the faint prick of tears behind her eyes. She lifted her head and kissed him, dragging herself closer to him. The hard length of him pressed against her thigh and she slid a hand between them, curling her fingers around him. He inhaled, and was still for a moment. Then he leaned over and kissed her mouth, with more urgency than before.

She stroked him slowly, hand tight around him, feeling him grow harder as she did so. Her other hand dug back into his hair, holding herself tight against him. He cupped her breast, pinching the nipple between his fingertips. She made a sound of pleasure at the tiny spark of pain, and was rewarded when pushed her shoulder back a little, and replaced his hand with his mouth.

She lost her grip on his cock as she arched up into the touch. She held his shoulder, holding him close. He moved to the other, and she felt his hand slide over her side, over her hip, and then down between her legs. Her nails dug into his skin when he touched her. It had been so long. Too long.

His fingers stroked her, explored her, taking his own sweet time before finding her clit and circling it. She arched and gasped out his name, pleasure tightening in her. He kissed her mouth, swallowing her noise of protest when his hand stopped. He pulled her against him, hooking one of her legs over his hip.

The head of his shaft pressed against her, sliding against her slick folds. She moaned into his mouth, shuddering at the sensation. "Yes," she murmured. "Please." He cupped her rear, pressing her closer slowly as he pushed into her. Until her pelvis touched his and he bottomed out.

He was big, stretching her and filling her. That, combined with their position made her feel open and exposed. Vulnerable. She didn't recall the last time she'd felt that. He was still, buried deep, but she was already breathing hard, skin tight and hyper sensitive with pleasure. She rested her forehead on his, watching him as he started to move. The slow slide of him, the friction of his sex against hers, left her breathless. 

He brought his hand up to her jaw, to hold her face, but he didn't kiss her. He just stroked his thumb over her cheek, matching his slow rhythm. Part of her had expected this to be a fast, rough, furniture-breaking affair, because they were both so strong. But it was gentle, and torturously languid.

She relaxed into the pace he set, hips rocking against his, though he did most of the work. She was used to rushing headlong to the finale, not this sweet, almost lazy love-making. Pleasure grew, filled her, making her almost dizzy with it. Eventually it pushed her past lust and want and into desperation. She clutched at him, hard enough to have hurt a normal man, begging him in a blend of English and Norwegian, "More, harder, please."

However much of it managed to be in English, he seemed to get the point. They rolled until she was beneath him. He hitched her leg up high and thrust hard and fast. It was exactly what she needed. Her bed creaked dangerously with their movements, the wood shuddering. She found his mouth and kissed him, hot and opened mouthed, her whole being focused on him.

Heat rose, crested and burst inside her. She cried out, tipping her head back as her back arched, pressing herself against him. Her body throbbed, pulsing around him in time with her heart beat. It was fast and erratic for a moment, and she could hear wood splintering as his body shuddered over her. The corner of the mattress behind her dropped and tilted them at an odd angle.

She couldn't help laughing, even as Steve collapsed on top of her. She was shaking and spent, but she managed to wrap her arms tightly around him, holding him close.

"Broke your bed," he mumbled into her neck.

"We should be proud," she replied, stroking his back.

"I suppose we could go sleep at my place," he said after a long moment, and with a resigned sigh.

She craned her neck back to look at the bed, but couldn't see the damage from this angle. "Breaking the rest of it so it lay flat or moving the mattress to the floor would be less work."

He considered that a moment, and then sat up slowly. "Mattress on the floor." He looked down at her and grinned widely. "Have I told you how gorgeous you are?"

"Not in so many words." She pushed herself up, scooting back to sit, then freezing when the bed wobbled dangerously. When they didn't go crashing to the floor she lifted a hand to touch his chest. "So are you."

He closed his hand around her wrist and stood, using that hand to pull her to her feet. "Let me fix it."

"The bed? If you want. Carpentry is not my forte."

"No, I'm going to put the mattress on the floor." He began moving her bedroom furniture around to make space. The most delightful part is he had didn't seem to mind doing it naked. "Though I am an excellent carpenter." 

She leaned on the door, arms crossed under her breasts, watching him blatantly. "I suppose if this is going to be a habit one of us is going to need to get something sturdy. Maybe I'll ask Syn what they have." She tilted her head as he bent to haul the mattress off the frame. "Not that this doesn't have its merits."

"Stronger wood, better construction. You could do metal as well—but this is pine. It will break easy. Better wood will make a huge difference. They have a lot of redwood out west. Oak would do, too."

It was gratifying to hear him plan. To have the need for a stronger bed accepted as fact. "What is yours made of?"

"Hickory, Sugar Maple, and Rosewood. Though I also have a hammock strung up I sleep in sometimes."

She grinned. "Well, of course." He'd gotten the mattress settled and the broken bed frame pushed aside. It made the room a little crowded, but not claustrophobic. He even straightened the sheets before settling on it. He beckoned to her and she grabbed a thick quilt out of her trunk before joining him on their new, makeshift nest.

He tucked her against him. "Well, all we need now is a hearth and we'll be back in some other century."

Her head fit perfectly on his shoulder and she draped an arm and leg over him to get as close as she could. "I still hope to see your island someday soon." She smoothed a hand over the quilt. "I sewed this myself. A very, very long time ago."

"It's nice work." He was inspecting the stitches. "Sewing is one of the things the scrawny kid on a ship gets tasked with."

"Mmm. I imagine we've both mended our share of sails. I should make more quilts. I stopped . . . well, I suppose when I stopped having someone to curl up with."

Steve was quiet a moment. "But you did have someone once?"

It was her turn to be quiet, letting the inevitable stab of sorrow hit her. "Yes. In the late 1600s. His name was Mats." She smiled softly. "He was a watchmaker."

"Your watch is very old," was all he said.

"He made it for me for my hundredth birthday. It was one of the last watches he made from scratch. Before minute hands became common." She sighed, cuddling closer to him. "He was very sweet. Gentle. Brilliant. Wasn't like any man I'd ever known before. I met him in Bergen, biggest city in Norway at the time. I was with him for over forty years, until he died."

"Was it worth it?"

"I'm still not sure," she said honestly. "Losing him was very hard. Watching him age and change broke my heart. But it couldn't erase the good years. How much I loved him and he loved me. I can't say I regret it and it's gotten easier to carry as the years passed." She smiled wryly. "Sometimes, I can almost hear him talking to me, like an angel on my shoulder. That's what made me get on that train with you."

"You think he'd approve of me?"

She tipped her head back to look at him and smiled, touching his jaw. "I do. I think you'd have gotten along quite well."

He leaned down to kiss her. "Good." He smiled. "To be honest, I was a little worried about your wanderlust."

She arched a brow, rolling onto her stomach so she could look at him. "Afraid I'd get bored and start prospecting again?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe you wouldn't want something. . .long."

To say a relationship between them would be long was probably an understatement. She sighed and dropped an affectionate kiss on his chest. "I didn't have it in me to love a mortal the way I did with Mats. For a while I thought I literally wasn't capable of it. Then there was Caleb and, well, that didn't work out very well. After that. . . I don't know how to explain it. For a while it was like I didn't feel anything anymore. The only way I knew how to deal with it was to keep moving, to distract myself. It's only been the last few years that feeling has eased."

"I don't want you to feel stuck—hell, I don't even know what I'm doing. But we are something, aren't we?"

She studied his face a moment, feeling an odd twist of emotion in her chest, as if her heart was physically reacting to his words. She swallowed hard but her voice was still a little choked up when she spoke. "We're definitely something." He smiled, a little shyly, and pulled her close for a kiss. She sank onto him, putting everything she didn't have words for into the kiss. After a moment his arms tightened on her and he rolled her beneath him. She smiled against his mouth. It was going to be a delightfully long night.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Conversations with Dead Men_


	10. Conversations with Dead Men

One did not sleep with prostitutes, so this was the first time in Steve's life he'd woken up with a woman asleep on his chest. She made grumpy noises when he roused her. "I need to go home and get clean clothes."

"You don't want to stay naked in bed with me?" she mumbled into his skin.

"I would love to. But there's a meeting. You're actually supposed to come to it, too."

She sighed deeply and rolled off him, burrowing under her quilt. "Must I?"

"Yes. You can either come with me, or meet me there. Those are your only options."

Another deep sigh. Then her head poked out and she kissed him. "I'll get ready."

"Thank you," he said, and climbed up off the mattress. He knew she watched him walk out of the bedroom, could all but feel her gaze on him. But he heard her get up and start moving around as he went to check on his clothes drying in the kitchen.

When he was dressed in his stiff, wrinkled clothes he went back to the bedroom to find her buttoning up a pretty grey and blue dress, waist cinched into a corset. Her hair was combed, but not up, spilling down her back. She glanced up when he came in and smiled warmly. "Good morning."

"Good morning." He grinned back. "Are you going to come with or meet me?"

"I'll come with you, if you don't mind. I'll be ready in a minute and I'm still not comfortable at the Tower without you with me."

"I completely understand," he said. "And you can see my house."

She finished her buttons and retrieved a ribbon from a drawer in her armoire, tying her hair back. "That's my ulterior motive," she admitted.

He didn't live very far from her at all, in a different part of Greenwich Village, also in a building that was old. He wondered if Anja had deliberately helped steer her somewhere near him, or they simply gravitated to the same sort of place. But in a city full of shiny steel and concrete skyscrapers, elegant brownstones and elaborate Queen Annes, Steve had chosen a house that looked to be about as old as he was. It wasn't quite that old, but it was close.

As he unlocked the entry and let them into the front hall. The townhouse was entirely his—he didn't like flats. He watched her tip her head back and look around, turning in a slow circle, before facing him. "This is all yours?" she asked. 

He grinned. "It is. It's smaller than it looks from the street, though." 

"Still. Makes my place look pretty meager in comparison."

"It was in terrible shape when I bought it." He began climbing the stairs, so she followed him. "But I like doing physical things, so. . " He shrugged. He'd strung his hammock up in whatever room was most habitable, and expanded the livable space one room at a time. He still wasn't sure what he was doing with so much space, but he'd contemplate that when the house was done.

She ran her hand over the smooth wood of the bannister. "It's beautiful work," she told him, voice soft. 

They went up another flight. His bedroom was on the fourth floor. "Tony talked me into letting him run wires for electricity when we installed the plumbing—the house had no water save a kitchen pump, no lighting gas, nothing. But I don't have it hooked up. I did run pipes and install a boiler for steam heat though. When it's cold I have terrible dreams."

She made a little noise of sympathy. "I would imagine you wouldn't like the cold much." Her hand tucked into his when they reached the fourth floor, fingers weaving through his. "I'll make you an extra warm quilt," she told him.

He stopped and looked down at her, well aware of the weight behind her quilt-making activities. He bent to kiss her. "Thank you." Her fingers tightened on his as she kissed him back. He liked how honest she was. She didn't hide her attraction to him or the reactions she had to his touch. Society sometimes seemed to depend on artifice and hiding anything that might be deemed "inappropriate." Her honesty was refreshing.  
 She grinned when they parted. "Can I watch you change?"

He chuckled and opened is bedroom door. "Only if you promise we won't be too late for work." Then he watched her stop and stare at his massive wooden bed—bed hangings and all.

She made a little noise of wonder and stepped past him to the bed, running her fingers along carved post. She traced the different woods with the same reverence she'd touched him the night before. For an instant he pictured her sprawled naked on the bed, flushed and arching beneath him as she had only a few hours ago in their makeshift nest on the floor of her room. He shook the image off, turning to find clothes.

He heard her sit and risked a glance back to find her perched on the side of the bed, one hand wrapped around a post, watching him as if she knew exactly what he'd been thinking. She grinned. "I'll behave," she promised. "Anticipation is half the fun."

Steve pulled out a clean shirt and a black suit. Today was a good day for somber clothing. He went into the small bathroom attached to his bedroom. The cost of running the sewer line all the way up here had been expensive as hell, but toilets were another one of his favorite modern marvels. He didn't want a chamber pot and he didn't want to have to go downstairs. And he had hot water for shaving. It did take forever for it to come up through the pipes, though. "It's going to be a difficult day," he told her. "I'm happy you're here."

"I hope I'm not in the way," she said, voice raised so he could hear her. "No one likes a stranger intruding on their grief."

The water was finally hot, so he filled the sink and turned it off. Charlie had given him one of those new-fangled safety razors a couple of years ago, but he swore a straight razor shaved better—and if he cut himself it healed very quickly. "You're with me," he said as he soaped his face. "That's enough."

There was silence and he took the opportunity to focus on his shaving. There was movement in the mirror and he saw her step into the doorway and lean her shoulder on the jamb to watch him. He couldn't read the emotion in her eyes and he wondered if, for a moment, she was seeing something from her past. Finally, she said, "Anything I can do to help, just let me know."

He smiled at her in the mirror and lifted the razor to his cheek.

There was the thump of a door closing somewhere in the house beneath them. Jo frowned and glanced behind her. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No," he said quietly. The closest thing he had to a weapon was the razor—but then unless it was a wandering Asgardian down there, his fists would certainly do fine. He quickly wiped his face, and pressed his finger to his lips before leaving the bathroom and creeping out into the hall. He could hear footsteps—someone was definitely down there. He started down the stairs, only to have the absolute last person he expected appear at the bottom of them.

He actually blinked just to make sure he wasn't seeing things. "Coulson?"

The supposedly dead man gave him a wry smile. "Captain. Do you think you could get the others here? We need to talk."

He came down the stairs—hell, he nearly jumped over the rail. Coulson really was not a man you hugged, but Steve sure as hell wanted to. "They told us you were dead."

"That doesn't surprise me. They burned my house down in the middle of the night. I stowed away on a steamer. I came here because I knew you didn't keep servants and are less likely to booby-trap your back door than the Bartons."

That made Steve laugh. "Very true. Oh." He turned to look at Jo, now standing on the stairs. "This is Jorunn, my. . ." What was she? He was certain there was some modern word he wasn't aware of to describe their relationship. Lover, while accurate, was probably not quite up to Coulson's level of propriety. But she was his. . .something.

Coulson was starting to look awkward when Jo stepped forward and offered her hand. "I'm just his," she said. "You can call me Jo."

He smiled and bowed over her hand. "Philip Coulson. It's very nice to meet you. Very nice to know the Captain has found someone."

She blushed a little and looked at Steve. "Do you want me to call the others?"

"I don't have a phone," he replied.

"You don't even have lights," Coulson added. "Was fun stumbling around feeling the walls in the dark last night."

"People lived for millennia without wall-mounted lights. My neighbor has a phone, I can go ask to borrow it. You don't want to go into the office?"

"I don't know who I can trust. Though clearly I can trust you to remain in the 18th century." He stopped and glanced over at Jo.

"She knows," Steve said. "She's 300 years old. Which I'm sure she'll explain while I am next door."

Jo glanced at him and it occurred to him she might not be comfortable alone with someone from Shield with a very British accent. She seemed to decide that she could trust his judgement, because all she said was, "If you've been here all night maybe you can show me the kitchen. And we can combine forces to make tea."

"Absolutely," Coulson said with a nod.

Steve leaned over and kissed her. "I'm going to go upstairs and put the rest of my clothes on so I don't offend my neighbor."

"That's probably a good idea," she told him seriously. She gestured down the stairs and looked at Coulson. "Shall we?"

His neighbor was very gracious about letting him make the call. When he went back to his house, he was startled to find his entire team in the parlor. Of course they were. Loki was in town.

Nat was hugging Coulson. Apparently two non-huggers cancelled each other out. Thor was announcing his joy at seeing the Brit in a loud booming voice. Syn appeared to be waiting for her turn to hug. The rest of them were seated around the parlor and Jo was serving tea and getting lectured by Loki on cat care. So, really, a normal get together for them.

Tony was in Steve's favorite chair, feet up on the ottoman. "Rogers, you have excellent taste in chairs." He looked up. "We left the kids back at the office. I hope they don't kill each other."

"At this age, killing isn't the activity I'd be worried about," Steve commented, leaning against the wall behind him.

"Don't say that too loud, certain people have bat ears, and Charlie is the smartest of my offspring. I'd hate for him to end up disemboweled."

Steve chuckled and shook his head. Jo handed him a cup of tea and leaned on his arm briefly. "I will never get used to the teleporting," she told him.

"You'd be surprised." He paused. "Where did all the teacups come from? I only have four."

"Loki conjured them."

He sighed. "He can't conjure. They're probably stolen. He cases Macy's in Herald Square whenever he's in New York and can make anything in it appear in right in front of you."

She glanced at her cup uncertainly, as if weighing the morality of drinking from it. Finally, she shrugged and took a sip. "You have to admit, that's pretty clever."

"I generally make sure some extra money ends up in a cash register somewhere," Syn said, appearing at her side. "I'm so happy for you two, you're a lovely couple."

Steve cleared his throat, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Thank you."

She grinned widely and he had the sudden sense he'd just been tricked into admitting something she hadn't actually know. Syn kissed his cheek, then hugged Jo and whispered something in her ear that made Jo blush before flitting off to join Loki on the couch. 

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's all right." She reached down and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "You're worth a little embarrassment."

"I knew _weeks_ ago," Stark commented, sounding for all the world like a gossiping matron, feigning boredom with her scoop.

"Okay," Steve said, his voice good and loud. "Are we having a meeting?"

"Yes," Nat said, taking a seat and gesturing for those left standing to do the same. "Coulson, we're all obviously glad to see you. What the hell is going on in England?"

He walked over towards the fireplace. "For some time now, Shield has been assisting the European powers with their arms race. Not just our allies, but our enemies." Europe had become a tangled web of alliances and mutual defense pacts, all lined up like dominoes. Britain and France and Russia on one side; Germany, Italy and Austria-Hungary on the other. Nearly every other country was tangentially aligned with one or the other. If anyone in Europe went to war, _everyone_ did.

"Why?" Syn asked, sounding vaguely horrified.

"To keep the race even," Coulson replied. "Peace only lasts as long as the race goes on. One side starts to pull ahead, become too powerful, and the whole thing falls apart."

"Doesn't that just make the eventual war that much worse?" Stark asked.

"The goal is to never reach war. To maintain a level of mutually ensured destruction so no one will be crazy enough to start one."

"Well, that's silly. There's always someone crazy enough." That, naturally, from Loki.

"As you know, we've been reverse engineering the alien weapons for years, gleaning what technology we could from them. There was a request, which was denied, to begin releasing weapons themselves as part of the power balancing. We had agreement from the Prime Minister himself that this should never happen. And yet. . . it did. I learned of it myself only a few weeks ago."

"They are also being resold," Nat told him. "To anarchist groups. Steve and his team interrupted a trade last week, confiscated all the weapons. I'm certain it wasn't the first sale but we've no way of knowing where the earlier weapons went."

"That is another thing I learned recently. Our intel was sketchy, but many of these groups are capable of effectively igniting the powder keg. Keeping a lid on them had become a larger part of our work—much of that handed off to you as it's a less secret operation. Now the two are colliding." 

"So what can we do?" Barton asked. "Before it blows up."

Coulson looked at Nat, and raised an eyebrow. She nodded. "We go find them, and take them out before they do."

Syn grinned and looked at Loki. "Oh. An adventure. It's been so long since we had a proper adventure."

"Is this an everybody thing?" Stark asked. "Should I call Banner? He said he wouldn't come out of retirement unless it was an emergency, and this might be one."

Nat and Coulson exchanged another look. "Call him. Tell him the score and let it be his decision. I know it's hard for him to deal with the Other One." She glanced at Jo. "We may have a new heavy hitter, anyway."

"I don't know that she can demolish buildings with her fists," Steve commented. "Wonderful though she otherwise is."

Jo gave a gracious little nod, like a queen receiving a compliment.

"I'm hoping large scale demolition isn't necessary," Coulson said. "But Nat's right, I don't want Banner to feel it’s an order."

"Do you have any idea what weaponry has been sold to them?" Thor asked. "What are we up against? There's a lot of space between futuristic guns and that building-eater that brought the tower down."

"To the best of my knowledge it's been guns and not the robotics. Advanced ballistics, flame throwers, that type of thing. No one but Stark has been able to replicate the autonomous machine works and he's kept that on this side of the Atlantic."

"And you called me paranoid," he seemed to feel compelled to state.

"Yes, you're very smart," Nat said, sounding tired.

"Do we need to conduct meetings in my house?" Steve asked. "Or is it now safe to go to the office?"

Nat looked at Coulson. "I don't think any of my people are reporting to England. But if you're not comfortable being there we can move this to our house, or one of the safe houses."

"We could run everyone we bring in on this past Syn," Loki said. "They can't lie."

"That's a good idea. I'm going to go back to the office and set up some meetings with people I'd like to have on board. Can you come by this afternoon?"

"Of course," Syn said. "I enjoy playing spy."

"Good. We'll reconvene for a planning meeting at two, then." Nat looked over at Coulson. "You're welcome to come stay with us for the time being."

He smiled. "Thank you, Natasha, I appreciate that. I'm sure Cap doesn't want me cramping his style," he added with a glance at Steve. That was possibly one of the most risqué things he'd ever heard the man say.

Suddenly all he could think of was he and Jo breaking her bed. It probably wasn't wise for them to have guests on the lower floors of his house this evening. Who knew how sturdy that ceiling plaster was? But politeness required him to say, "You're always welcome here. But you might prefer to be somewhere that has electricity."

Coulson nodded and gave him a crooked smile. "I'm old. I appreciate my creature comforts."

Loki took the group of them back to the office, and then he and Jo were alone again. She stood and started to clean up the tea cups. "That was far more exciting then I expected this morning to be," she admitted.

"I do feel a bit like I've been tumbled by the surf," Steve replied.

"Not everyday the dead come back to life." She took her tray into his kitchen, returning a moment later to perch on the arm of his chair. "Can I do anything?"

He put his hand on her knee. "Usually, the thing I'd do now is go for a run."

She tilted her head. "I suppose we could go _back_ to my place so I could change into something suitable for running with you." A slow smile spread over her face. "Or, we could think of another way to work up a sweat."

He looked up at her and grinned. "Whatever did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know." She slid off the arm and onto his lap, looping her arm over his shoulders. Her mouth pressed against his throat and she spoke into his skin. "I still owe you a rematch."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment _Plans of Espionage and a Vacation Back in Time_


	11. Plans of Espionage and a Vacation Back in Time

"I'm really sorry about this."

They were upstairs in Steve's bedroom. Jo was sprawled out naked on his bed. . . while he picked wood splinters out of her back with tweezers.

She tried hard not to laugh, as it would only make it take longer. "It's fine. Honestly. So now we know that my bed and your bedroom door cannot handle us making love. I'm going to start a list."

"Technically it was the door _frame_ ," he said. And the door itself was laying on the floor, iron hinges intact. The moulding had ripped right off the frame—and scraped up her back—when it went. "That door is a hundred year old live oak. It could take a cannon ball."

"I will be sure to note that on the list." She folded her arms to lay her head down on them. "So. Now that we have a few rounds under your belt, how do you like . . . unpurchased sex?"

He leaned over to kiss her shoulder. "You've ruined me."

She closed her eyes and gave a little hum of pleasure. "My plan is working perfectly."

"I think I got all the splinters," he told her.

Planting her hands on the mattress, she stretched, felt no twinges and rolled onto her back, tucking her hands behind her head to look at him. "I suppose next you'll tell me we have to get ready for the meeting at the Tower."

His eyes roamed over her, and she felt it like a caress. "Mmm, probably."

Oh, this was nice. It had been a long time since she'd trusted a man enough to lounge about naked with him. Steve was working his way behind all of her walls. She was still deciding if that worried her or not. "I suppose there's something to be said for taking a break to . . . recover our faculties."

"We can come back _after_ the meeting."

"After we stop at the store." She sat up to kiss him, hooking a leg over his. "We're going to need to keep up our strength."

He sifted his fingers into her hair. "Thank you for being here."

She studied him a moment, smoothing a hand over his skin, pressing it over his heart. "I can honestly say there's nowhere I'd rather be." She gave a crooked smile. "Which is, frankly, a little scary."

He put his hand over hers. "I won't hurt you."

"I know you won't mean to. And never like Caleb did. But we have a long time ahead of us. A long time to mess this up somehow."

"That's probably true. But you can't live your life expecting the worst to happen."

Part of her wanted to argue with him. It was, after all, a strategy that had kept her alive and protected for this long. It had been a lonely way to live though. She leaned forward to kiss him, hand still covering his heart. "I know," she said softly. "It's just. . . hard for me to let go of my armor sometimes."

"It's all right. If there is one thing on this earth we have, it's time."

"That we do." She kissed him again. "We should get dressed before I try to convince you to play hooky."

"Only you could convince me to be derelict of my duty."

She ran a hand through his hair, tousling it. "I vow to only use my power for good."

He watched her a moment, his face suddenly serious. "I used to put it above everything. Doing my duty. Doing whatever was best for the greater good. It was all I ever focused on. Turned out to have a hell of a cost."

"I'm just the opposite," she said softly. "I never had a duty, never looked out for anyone but myself. I don't think it made me any happier." She took his hand again. "Maybe we can figure out a happy medium together."

Steve turned her hand, and lifted it to kiss her knuckles. "Sounds like a plan." He paused. "Now I'll go get dressed again, and possibly actually shave my face this time."

*

Whenever they were in New York, Loki and Syn stayed with the Starks. They had a massive house, and most of their children were grown. Thor and Jane were also staying there this time, and Mrs. Stark seemed particularly excited about having babies under her roof. She and Jane had taken Magni and Hela somewhere and he hadn't seen them all day. 

Bored, he summoned the mail from their box in San Francisco and was sorting through it while sitting in a corner of Nat's office watching Syn inspect various Avengers employees for trickery and betrayal. There were a couple he would have put good money on them being traitors, but nobody so far. He was losing his touch.

They had entirely too much mail. Why did Syn get so many catalogs?

He looked up when the door opened to see Steve and Jo come slinking in. A good half hour late. She had a hickey on the back of her neck. He rolled his eyes and threw a small glamour on it. He liked her cat, he could save them embarrassment.

When they sat, he leaned over and whispered, "We seem to be an honest operation."

"Well, that's reassuring," Steve said. "I didn't want to know what Nat would do to anyone who wasn't."

"There is a window right there." He gestured towards it.

The door opened again, and this time it was Stark. Surprisingly, he had Banner with him. As far as Loki knew, he lived in the mountains somewhere upstate. Nat looked up, holding her hand up to Syn would stop her questions. "I said call him, not put him on a train."

Stark held up his hands. "I didn't do anything. He was in the lobby."

"I came on my own," Banner said. He came across the room and held out an envelope. "I got a letter from someone in Shield in London, asking me to come join them."

Nat stood up abruptly and went to him, taking the envelope. She pulled the letter out and skimmed it, face darkening. "Get out," she said to the poor agent sitting across from Syn. The man scampered out like a threatened rabbit, closing the door behind him.

Stark took the letter from her next. "I can't believe they wrote you. They thought you would turn on us? They didn't do their research, did they? I mean, it's not like you're particularly patriotic, but we're your friends. I'd put you slightly ahead of the Captain over there on likelihood of betraying us."

He shrugged. "I am technically still a British Citizen." He held up a hand. "There's a lot of paperwork." Then he looked back at the letter. "It says they were also approaching others. Nobody else got one? I can't be the only one who looks on paper like he could be bribed to change sides."

Loki noticed suddenly every eye in the room was on him. Including his wife's.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, managing to sound affronted.

"You did attempt a coup," Nat said.

"There were mitigating circumstances."

"Your nickname is the Trickster." Stark was one to talk.

"Darling, really," Syn said, smiling. "You're surprised?"

He made a face. "I like you all better than I ever liked most of them. And besides, I have received no such letter." He looked down at the pile of mail in his lap, and sighed at the sudden sinking feeling. Sure enough, there it was, five envelopes down. He broke the seal and pulled the paper out, reading it. The content was much the same as Banner had described. Would he be willing to work for them? He would be paid handsomely. He held it out for Nat when he was finished.

She started to pace a bit as she read it. "This is insane. We're supposed to be allies. What else is going on under our noses?"

"Whatever it is, they killed Son of Coul to cover it up," Thor said.

"What?" Banner gasped.

"Oh, no," Stark waved a hand. "He's still alive. He's here. They just think they killed him and we're not dissuading them of that notion for the moment."

"Jesus. Don't do that. If I wasn't so old and creaky that would have got the Other One out. Who remains neither old, nor creaky, I can assure you."

"Right," Stark said. "No one make any sudden moves around Banner. Especially not in my house."

Syn now had the letter and was looking at it thoughtfully. "I know a way you could find out exactly what's going on under your nose."

Loki had a good idea of where she was going. It would probably be dangerous. And also probably a whole hell of a lot of fun. "I have always wanted to try my hand at espionage."

Nat stopped her pacing and looked from one to the other. "You can't be serious."

"It's far less sinister then what they've been doing," Syn said, waving the letter. "They did _ask_ him, so him coming to them won't be suspicious. And I doubt they've anyone there who could put up much of a fight when he's ready to return." Bless his wife, they'd never accept this sort of plot coming from only him.

"If there's anyone who could sell it convincingly, it would be Loki," Steve said. 

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," he said lightly.

Nat was considering it, he could see it in her face. Finally, she said, "I'm not okay with you going in alone. Syn—"

"Can't lie," she interrupted. "Probably a liability in spy-craft."

"It'll be suspicious if I bring someone with me at first. If this turns out to run deep, I can then 'recruit' whomever seems most convenient." He leaned forward and met her eyes. "I have had a hundred meals at your house. My wife delivered your children and you were there when mine was born. I kept your husband from bleeding to death once. We've known each other twenty years. Do you trust me or not?"

She looked honestly surprised. "Of course I trust you," she said as if it should have been obvious. "It never occurred to me you might actually turn. I don't want you there alone because I don't like to send any of my people out alone. Not even demi gods with superiority complexes."

He felt a little embarrassed. And rather touched. Perhaps he should stop assuming people were assuming the worst of him. He didn't look at his wife because he knew exactly the look she was giving him. "Well. Thank you. But please also trust my instincts in the fine art of manipulating people, at which I am reasonably skilled. I do sort of run a city. And. . .most of a state. Let me go alone." He smiled. "I don't think they'd believe it if you defected."

She smirked. "Probably not. All right. We need to figure out some way for you to report back without drawing suspicion. Then you can go to England at your leisure."

"I can send notes back to Syn. I can find her anywhere."

Nat gave a short nod. "All right. Do you mind staying in New York for a while?" she asked Syn.

"As long as the Starks are willing to put up with me and the little princess."

"Pepper loves having babies in the house," Stark said. "You are welcome as long as you wish."

"That's settled then." Nat looked at Loki. "Good luck. If you decide to stage a coup there and take over operations yourself it would probably solve a lot of problems."

He tilted his head. What an intriguing idea. 

No. Biting off more than he could chew was _always_ what got him in trouble. "One thing at a time. For that I certainly would need reinforcements."

Syn shook her head at him, but he thought it was more indulgent then anything else. "All of my usual warnings are useless," she said, sounding amused. "I suppose I'll just say 'have fun.'"

He grinned at her. "I believe I would like to go home and spend a little time with my family before I begin my errand of evil."

"That is entirely fair," Nat said. She walked back around behind her desk. "We don't have enough intel to locate which anarchist groups have the weaponry. Information on that is going to need to be one of your first orders of business. I believe the integrity of this organization is going to prove to be sound, so we can bring Coulson in and see what we can do. For the rest of you. . . don't get too far from a telephone."

 

*

July, 1913  
Nantucket, Massachusetts

The boat he'd bought in New Bedford was tiny, but he'd wanted something they could easily drag up the beach out of the reach of the tide. The weather was calm, and they were both sturdy and capable sailors. It went fine.

The house was just beyond the dunes. Small, old, covered in wood shingles weathered gray with age. It wasn't much, but it was enough for two.

"This is really the exact opposite of staying near a telephone," Jo commented as they dragged the boat up the beach.

"Thor promised to come get us the moment there was anything," Steve replied. "He was very encouraging of this trip."

"Your group is full of matchmakers," she told him as she hauled her bags out of the boat. Tyv finally stuck her nose up over the side of the boat to inspect their new location. After a moment she leapt out, and dug at the sand for a moment. Then some bird fluttered in the dune grass and she sprinted off.

Steve pulled out the crate and bags of supplies. He generally intended to feed them out of the ocean, and he had a well with a pump, but they still needed some things—kerosene, candles, paper, flour, tea, and other such sundries. There was a general store in town, of course, but the less he went in there the better. "He told me after the battle in London when he went up to Scotland to retrieve Jane, they decided to stay up there in the highlands for a while. Huddled up in a castle in the snow. Said it was a very good experience. An escape from our particularly fast-paced world."

"It's nice to go back in time, so to speak. The Yukon was like that. This. It reminded me of home." She looked up at the house. "Did you build this?"

He grinned with pride. "Every board and nail." It had been a very dark time when he'd started it. While he was still trying to figure out what to do with this new world he'd woken up to. It had given him physical activity, and some space. Some distance from the beeping, clicking, honking electrified chaos that Boston had become. This was where he felt most at home.

Other than that first trip in search of the stone, before the house had been built, he had never brought anyone to this island before.

They hiked up the dunes, carrying and dragging their gear. She waited for him to open the door of the little cottage before ducking inside ahead of him. Looking around didn't take long, it was little more the one room with hand made furniture and a large fireplace. She set her bags down against the wall and took a deep breath. "This feels like home," she said, smiling.

That made him happy. He watched her open the back door, only to find herself looking at the pantry and storage area. She turned around and looked back at him. She gestured at the room. "Where's the bed?"

"I string a hammock." He went back to one of his packs and undid the ties, unfolding the ocean of cloth. "Charlie made this for me. It's the same fabric they skin the airships in—something his father and Banner cooked up." He look up. "Supposedly during testing he had himself, a suit of armor, Anja, two lab assistants and Mjölnir on it at one point."

She grinned and hiked an eyebrow at him. "That sounds like a challenge."

He laughed. "We will have plenty of free time."

She crossed the room to him then, winding her arms around his neck. "We'll have to get creative."

He slid his around her waist. They had unpacking to do. He knew his innate sense of order would be bothered until everything was put away. But for a moment he was content to hold her. To dip his head down and kiss her. "Thank you for coming here."

"Thank you for inviting me," she replied. "Thank you for everything. For finding me."

He kissed her nose. "Technically, Nat found you."

"Maybe," she conceded. "But you convinced me to get on the train. She could definitely not have done that."

"There was just. . .no need to go it alone. Not if you didn't have to."

Her fingers wound into his hair, stroking. "I thought I was happy alone," she said quietly. "Being with people always ended up hurting me." She smiled suddenly. "You're very easy to trust."

"People tell me I have an earnest face." He swayed her a little. "We should unpack. But I think I'd rather go for a swim with you."

She kissed him. "Am I tempting you from your duty again?" she murmured.

"Yes. And I am finding it surprisingly enjoyable." He kissed her, deeper this time. Against her mouth he murmured, "Take your clothes off."

He heard a little hitch in her breath at the words. But she stepped away from him and started unbuttoning her blouse, holding his gaze as she did so. He unbuttoned his own shirt. To this day he still did not like the shirts with buttons, but they were everywhere. "This end of the island is deserted, and nobody can see this beach."

She leaned on the chair he had set up in front of the fireplace so she could take her boots off. "I believe you. You don't strike me as a man that lets others look at his woman."

"No. And you should seriously consider not putting those boots back for the rest of our trip."

One, then the other, were tossed aside and she slide her pants off her hips and down her long legs. "As you wish," she said with a smile. Last to go was her drawers and the odd little undergarment that covered her breasts, and then she was naked in the middle of his cabin. "Race you to the water."

He took a fortifying breath as thoughts about tackling her to the cabin floor flitted through his mind. Patience would be rewarded. "You're on."

Without another word—or any warning at all—she sprinted past him and out the door, heading for the beach. She won, but he didn't try to get in front of her as he was enjoying the view. They swam, and made love in the ocean. Later they stretched out in the sand and let the sun dry them. They drifted, even slept a little. It was a very elemental sort of thing; laying out on beach naked, at one with nature. He was glad he didn't have neighbors. They'd probably run him off the island.

When he found her that first night, telling her how she shouldn't live her life alone, he'd felt like he had plenty of company. And what solitude he had he was happy with. Right now, he was very aware of just how lonely he'd been. He had plenty of people to share life's momentous events with—and absolutely no one to share the the quiet with.

They went inside as the sun dipped, dressing in the smallest amount of clothing they could, then went back out to the water as the tide lowered. They dug for clams, then cooked them for supper before settling in for the night. Jo sat on the rug in front of the fire and unpacked a little cloth bag she'd brought, laying out squares of fabric that she started to stitch by hand. It was easy to forget that the world was full of cars and airships and skyscrapers. Here they were protected from all that, content with the simplicity they'd taken for granted as mortals.

Steve hung the hammock by a kerosene lantern. He set it on the hearth so he could bank the supper fire. "You're making a quilt," he said quietly.

She glanced up from her stitching. "I am. I went to the fabric store before we left. The girl who helped me was a little horrified I intended to do it by hand." Her head bent over the fabric again. "They have machines that do that now, you know."

He chuckled. "People have no soul." He reached out to touch her quilt. "I like hand made things. I buy ready-made clothes, but I don't like it. Though I do have many handmade socks." She looked up and raised an eyebrow, so he added, "Nat knits when she's nervous. Or needs to think. Or discuss uncomfortable topics. She has passed this on to her daughter and they are like a two-woman sock factory."

Jo laughed at the image he painted. "I concede that ready made things are convenient. I'm glad I don't have to measure and hand make every item of clothing. That I can occasionally discard things I don't wish to mend. I have blankets and quilts I've bought at the store. But if I'm going to take the time to make something myself then I want to feel _I've_ made it." He noticed her stitches were as tiny and precise as any machine's. "Mats and I spent many nights this way. Him putting together a watch, me sewing something. Not saying a word for hours but very much together in our quiet pursuits."

That seemed an invitation to get up and get his notebook and pencils. He sharpened one with a small knife, and watched the firelight flicker on her face. That was perhaps what he'd been missing. Companionable silence.

He lost track of time as the evening darkened to full night. The cat wandered in and curled on the windowsill. Jo’s little squares grew into larger squares that she lay out occasionally, so that he got a sense of the pattern. He noticed the main colors were red, white, and blue, a nod, he imagined to his shield and nickname. If there was any question as to who had inspired her to pick up the needle again, there was the answer.

Finally she put her sewing down and stretched, rolling her head to work out the kinks in her neck. She caught his gaze and, apparently hesitant to break the silence, smiled and nodded to the hammock as she stood.

Steve nodded, closing the cover of his notebook on a sketch of her profile. He stood, holding out a hand for her. He climbed in and helped her settle in next to him. The night was warm enough they didn't really need a blanket, but he tucked a linen sheet over them in case it cooled. He felt her sigh as she curled up against him. There was no awkward fumbling as they got comfortable, she seemed to fit perfectly, tucked under his chin. Like they'd been doing it for years. She pressed a little goodnight kiss to his jaw. He stroked her arm as he drifted towards sleep. 

Nothing in his entire life had ever felt so perfect.

* * *

**End Part One**

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Storms Great and Small_


	12. Storms Great and Small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Part the Second**
> 
>  
> 
> _And all men kill the thing they love,_  
>  _By all let this be heard,_  
>  _Some do it with a bitter look,_  
>  _Some with a flattering word,_  
>  _The coward does it with a kiss,_  
>  _The brave man with a sword._  
>  \-- Oscar Wilde The Ballad of Reading Gaol

October, 1913  
Nantucket, Massachusetts

The storm that had blown in was different from the summer thunderstorms that had kept Jo's small garden in fresh water. She and Steve had stood on the beach that morning and watched the direction of the dark clouds. You didn't have to sail the waters off New England long before you knew what an inbound nor'easter looked like. 

Their boat, which they took out sailing or fishing regularly all summer, had to be hauled back up over the dunes. He brought firewood inside to stay dry, and she was bolting the window shutters closed when the first fat raindrops fell. Tyv scampered up on the porch not long after. Usually she didn't seem to mind rain, but Jo supposed any good ship's cat could tell the difference between regular rain and a storm worthy of getting below decks.

Tyv stretched out on the hearth while Jo and Steve ate supper and washed up. The storm raged on outside, but Steve had built the little house sturdy as Gibraltar. They tucked themselves under her brand new quilt to watch the fire and listen to the wind and rain.

"I suppose this is a sign we'll have to rejoin civilization soon," she said after a while, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I think this is a real storm and not a Thor storm."

"Is this place winter proof?"

"To a certain degree that's a rather modern notion," he said. "It's not like it's got plumbing." She raised an eyebrow at him, and he sighed. "No. It's not. If I plastered the walls it would help with the drafts." He looked up. "And put in a real ceiling. We'd need to go inland to get warmer clothes. And a bigger boat and more gear to fish in winter weather." He touched the stone of the hearth. "I built this to radiate the heat outside, so I could cook without sweltering. So maybe. . . next winter?" 

"Definitely next winter," she said. "I can help with some of it. The plastering at least. Maybe a couple more quilts and a good rug for the floor." She kissed his cheek. "It'll be a fun project."

She watched him smile down at the quilt. When she'd gotten to the long, slow process of quilting it's fabric layers together, he'd even helped her. She could tell the stitches that were his instead of hers; he wasn't as good. But it was all part of the quilt's story now. 

It had been an idle, impulsive decision, buying the pieces for the quilt and bringing them here. It was an activity she knew she could do by lamp light, one that would last the many months they'd intended to be gone. Now that it was done she couldn't wait to make another. She'd make the next in her apartment in New York, or maybe in his huge house. Then maybe another in the spring, in between fixing this place up for winter. They could mark the different stages in their life together. Physical reminders of the new, sparkling stage of their courtship. Relationship. Whatever this was.

"I was thinking the next one could be in Tyv's colors. She'll like having some indoor camouflage."

"They are very fall colors." He reached out to pet the cat's fur. "She's getting woolier, isn't she?"

Tyv stretched and chirruped at his petting. Jo smiled. "Every winter she turns into a furball with a pink nose. And every spring I spend a month sweeping up the fur she sheds."

Wind whistled through the rafters, and he reached out to pull her closer. He kissed the top of her head. "I would guess by the end of the month we should head back to the mainland."

She tugged the quilt up to her chin. "I think we'd both appreciate that, yes."

For a while he was quiet. Silences came and went with them, and it never seemed odd. "When it's cold sometimes I have nightmares."

Her hand found his under the quilt, weaving their fingers together. "Do you remember? The ice?"

"I. . .I think so. At least, I assume that's what the dreams are about. It's just very dark, and very cold. Painfully cold. Did you know freezing solid hurts? Apparently it does."

"I've never frozen, but I can imagine. Like when you hold onto ice too long. Or get frostbite."

"Winter always gets me. Seems I'm not fearless, despite my reputation."

She pressed a kiss into his shoulder. "Everyone has a fear. When you lose fear you start to get sloppy, take things for granted." She smiled and cuddled against his side. "I'll keep you warm," she murmured.

His arms tightened, and his "Thank you," sounded a little hoarse. He rested his cheek against her hair. She'd thought a lot over the last few months about the things she needed from him. It seems there were things he needed from her, too.

Silence reined again as they watched the fire flicker and slowly ebb. "Can I make a request?" she said finally. "If we're already going to be working on the place?"

"Anything," he told her. "Except electricity."

"Could we get something resembling an actual bed? Even a tick on the floor by the fire." She glanced back over her shoulder at the hammock. "Entertaining as it was, I'd like something we could lounge on."

He laughed. "Yes. I'll want to build out the back to surround the chimney. Perhaps we can have a proper bedroom."

"That would be even better. Then we won't have to worry about Tyv spying on us at inopportune moments."

"Winter requires a big warm bed with bedhangings."

She wound her arms around him. "I like planning with you. For the future."

That made him smile. Then he asked, "When we get back to New York, would you come stay with me?"

"I would love that," she said softly.

He kissed her on the mouth, taking his time. "Feel up to braving the hammock?"

She hummed in pleasure. "I could be convinced." He shifted her in his arms and stood, lifting her quilt and all. 

It was still raining the next morning, though the worst of the storm had blown through in the night. They spent a few lazy hours in the hammock enjoying each other's company, before climbing out to eat and stoke the fire. Jo let Tyv out to do her business, watching from the porch in case the cat wanted to come right back inside.

Steve came out to stand next to her. "I'm going to go down to the beach. It's almost low tide and the ocean usually coughs up something tasty during this type of weather."

She leaned her head back for a kiss. "Be careful," she told him as he headed down the path to the dunes. There was something primitively satisfying about watching her man head off to catch and kill their dinner. He did it nearly every day, and time had unwound, until sometimes she felt like the last century had never even happened.

Tyv wound through her legs before sauntering back inside. Jo followed her, stoking the fire in preparation for cooking. Then she tugged the quilt out of the hammock and settled in front of the blaze, Tyv curling in her lap. She stroked the cat idly, fur soft under her fingers.

Somewhere off in the east, thunder rumbled. She tipped her head back and listened. She couldn't have explained why to anyone who wasn't a sailor, or a New Englander, but there was something. . . off about that thunder. She rousted Tyv so she could get up and stand on the porch again.

Sure enough, there was Steve coming up over the dunes, Thor at his side. 

Jo sighed a little, feeling a pang at the end of their little vacation. It had been inevitable the real world would intrude eventually. She lifted a hand and waved as they approached the house.

"Good morning," Thor said as they reached the porch. "I apologize for my intrusion."

"Not at all," she said. "We were just discussing how our time was running short out here. Come in, the fire's warm."

"Thank you," he said. Though when he stepped in, it was fairly obvious that the a room cozy for two didn't quite have the space for three. Particularly if one of them was as enormous as Thor. Steve moved to take the hammock down so they'd have more space. "My brother has obtained reliable information about the location of the anarchist group that has been stockpiling the weapons."

"So we'll be heading out on mission?" Steve asked, suddenly all business. It was funny, after so long with him, she could see when the Captain was talking.

"Natasha is putting the team together. She thought you would want to be part of the planning process."

Steve glanced her way and she shrugged. "If Thor can keep the weather calm we can go back today."

"That happens to be a specialty of mine," he replied with a grin.

And so, despite a pang of regret at having to leave, they packed up their things and put the boat in the water. Tyv didn't seem any happier about leaving, but let Jo put her in the boat without complaint, She stood and took one last look at the cabin as Steve hiked over the dune with the last of their things. 

He gave her a sad, rueful look. "This is the first time I've ever _not_ wanted to get in the water."

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down for a kiss. "We'll come back in the spring," she promised him. "Make it ours."

"This, here, is the happiest I've been since I woke up," he told her.

"It's the happiest I've been in two hundred years," she replied. 

He grinned, kissed her again, and tossed the last bag in the boat. He helped her up, then climbed in himself. And then they were on their way, watching the island grow smaller.

They sailed into New Bedford, and then took the train down to New York City. It was overwhelmingly loud, somehow even more so than it had when she'd arrived from the circus. Steve hired a wagon; he didn't actually know how to drive a car. They took it to her apartment and packed up the things she wanted to bring to his house.

Tyv ran off to explore as soon as Jo let her out, then she and Steve moved her furniture and things. They spread the new quilt over the bed last, as if to make it official. She leaned on the bed post, looking around the room, now dotted with her own things, her life blended into his. It had been a very, very long time since she had done this. It was startling how right it felt.

"I love the island," he said. "But I have to admit. . . the space is nice."

"This will be the largest home I've ever lived in," she told him.

"It's the largest home I've ever lived in as well." He sat on the bed, smoothing his hand over the quilt. "When I got caught in the ice, I was on my first post-war voyage as a merchant. When I came home, I was going to buy a house in Boston and ask Margaret to marry me. Give the sea a little rest and set up our home."

Jo sat next to him and touched his hand, heart aching for him. "I'm glad I found you. But I wish you'd gotten your time with her."

"I've been thinking lately it serves as a reminder not to wait. To take life as it comes. Because even in immortality. . . there are windows, and they'll close."

"I suppose everything changes eventually. Even us."

He reached over and took her hand, looking rather serious, and like was about to say something. . . and then there was knocking from somewhere in the house below. A moment later they both heard Loki call up the stairs, "Steve? Are you home?"

"Now I know why the Bartons booby-trap their back door." Steve leaned back and yelled back, "Down in a moment."

"Knowing him, we're lucky he didn't just appear in the bedroom." They stood and she kissed his cheek. "Come on, let's hear what the master spy wants." 

Steve took a kerosene lamp down with them, since the sun was going down and the house was already full of shadows. Loki was in the parlor, sitting politely on the couch. "Have you ever considered electricity?"

"Not in the least." He sat across from him. "What brings you?"

Loki looked from Steve to Jo, then back again. "I believe I have reached as far as I can go in my investigations into Shield without help. It's time for me to bring in a partner."

"Absolutely no one over there is going to buy 'Captain America' changing sides."

"I wasn't thinking of you," he said gently, then gave Jo a pointed look.

"No," Steve said immediately.

Loki spread his hands. "She's the only one. They are uninterested in normal humans. She's the only one they'll believe would defect."

"Do you have any idea what they did to her the last time she walked into a Shield building?"

"I will not allow anything to happen to her."

He leaned back in his chair. "Can you really make a promise like that?"

"I can. And I do not make promises lightly. Your woman will be safe with me."

She watched Steve contemplate silently, then he looked over at her. "I do trust him."

She took a deep breath and blew it out again. Her stomach churned and everything in her told her not to do this. But instead she found herself saying, "All right."

Steve blinked, clearly surprised. "Really?"

"Last time I was there I didn't get much of a chance to pay them back for their hospitality." She lifted a shoulder. "He likes my cat, he probably won't let me die."

He reached over and touched her hand. "Do you want to discuss this in private? Or sleep on it?"

She turned her hand over to hold his. "Are you going to try to talk me out of it?"

"No, I just. . . I want to make sure you're sure. Not to long ago you wouldn't even go in Stark Tower."

It was possible thinking about it too long would change her mind all on its own. She looked at Loki. "Can I have a night to think about it?"

"Of course. They don't even know I'm here. I'm going to go see Syn and Hela, and then go back to London. You can send me a message through her."

She nodded. "I'll get back to you soon," she told him. He inclined his head gracefully and disappeared in a shimmer of green.

A long moment of silence stretched. "Jo," Steve said softly.

For a second, she thought she might cry. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked herself against him. He held her tight, pulling her fully into his lap. He rocked her gently, not saying a word.

"I know it's a stupid thing to do," she said softly. "But I think it's also the right thing to do."

"It's not stupid," he said. "It's very brave. And probably necessary. I trust Loki to look after you and keep you safe."

She pressed her face into the curve of his throat and took a breath. "I feel like I need to do this. To put them down so they can't hurt anyone else. If I can do that. . . maybe trust will come a little easier."

His arms tightened. "If anything goes wrong, I will come find you. I will burn all of London to the ground if I have to."

That was remarkably comforting. "I know you will." 

It was something, certainly. The last time they'd had her, she'd been alone. Now she'd have company. Not just Steve, but an entire organization backing her up. She had. . . people. And while she didn't entirely trust Loki, she had been there when he'd spoken to Natasha. At the very least, she believed his intentions were good. And Steve trusted him. She could work with that.

"It is reassuring to know he can teleport me out of there at a moment's notice," she added.

He kissed the top of her head. "I probably won't sleep the whole time you're there."

"I'll send you notes. Like he does with Syn. And think how fun the reunion will be."

He was quiet a moment, and then he sighed. "This morning we were at the beach."

It was her turn to tighten her arms on him. "I know. Back to our too fast lives."

"Maybe we should go get under the quilt and put it off until tomorrow."

She lifted her head and kissed him. "I like this plan. It's a very good plan."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _An Exchange of Secrets_


	13. An Exchange of Secrets

Steve had forgotten just how much he enjoyed his bed. They were going to have to build one just like it at their summer house.

_Their._ It was a strange thought, but it felt as natural as anything else. He was certain he would never again enjoy going to Nantucket without her. She had found herself such a place in his life that thinking about it without her was becoming strange. He'd asked her to come live in his house because he could no longer imagine living alone. 

Or waking up without her golden head pillowed on his chest.

She sighed softly, humming in pleasure. "I know you're awake, your breathing changes."

"I'll have to remember that." He stroked her back. "Good morning."

She arched into his touch and pressed a kiss onto his shoulder. "How did you sleep?"

"Good. I sleep well when you're here." He looked down at her, worry from last night coming back. "You?"

"Restlessly." She rolled onto her back, stretching. "Lots of thoughts in my head." She tucked her hands behind her head and looked at the hangings above the bed. "I think I'm sure about my decision. But I can't help turning it over and over."

He rolled onto his side. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She looked over at him and grinned. "You helped several times last night."

"I will always be available for that sort of thing." Or any other thing. He found himself _remarkably_ sure of that. "Jo?" he asked.

The tone of his voice seemed to concern her. She rolled to face him. "What is it?"

He watched her face. "Would you marry me?"

Her eyes widened almost comically and she caught her breath. "Oh, Steve." She blinked rapidly a moment, as if holding off tears. Then she said, very softly, "No."

Well. He supposed that was to be expected. It was one of the possible answers. He wasn't sure she'd say yes—the question had been more impulsive than it probably should be, but it wasn't careless. But he'd expected. . . hell, he didn't know. Something more equivocal than a straight no.

And now he had no idea what to say or do, aside from the definite notion that he'd ruined the morning. He hoped he hadn't ruined everything else, too.

He closed his eyes for a moment. He'd been in battle. He could be calm about this. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "You have this thing, and I shouldn't have. . ." He sat up. Maybe just starting the day was a good idea.

She scrambled to sit up as well. "It's not that I don't—" She shook her head sharply. "I'm sorry, I should have said it gentler. It's just too big, Steve. That sort of commitment. I'm not saying I'm planning on leaving. I don't want to be anywhere else. But if I'm going to—to make a vow to someone then I'm going to mean it. And ‘till death do us part is an awful long time for us. Thousands of years." She touched his back gently, hesitantly. "I can't even wrap my head around it. How can I promise it to you?"

"It's—like I said, I shouldn't have." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and searched for his pants. He tried not to be too rough putting them on. "You're a lot older than me, and most of the last century I've been asleep. He stood up. "I just want. . ." Right then a wave of grief struck him, for so many damn things. "I just want my life," he said quietly. 

Her hand lifted like she would reach for him again, but she seemed to think better of it, letting it drop back into her lap. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

It took him a moment to gather up the strength to smile at her. "It's all right. It was a foolish notion."

After a beat she gave him her own thin smile, then looked away. "I should probably pack a bag. For my little adventure."

He nodded. "I'm going to go take a shower and then go talk to Natasha and company."

"All right. I'll see you downstairs."

Steve went into the bathroom, and stayed under the spray until the water turned cool. It made for unpleasant shaving afterwards, but standing in that warm wall of water was a great place to think. Not that his thoughts were all that useful. But at least he felt clearheaded by the time he went downstairs.

He called Nat from his neighbor’s house. He was probably going to have to break down and get a line in his house soon. Just another concession made to the world that seemed determined to run his life. By the time he got back home Jo was downstairs, her duffel bag sitting by the front door. He found her in the kitchen, cooking eggs and looking morose.

Apologizing would only make it worse, he suspected, but he felt terrible. She had a lot on her mind, she didn't need him adding to it. He came up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. She leaned back into him sighing softly. He felt a glimmer of the casual ease they'd shared before. She put the pan off the heat and turned, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He hugged her close, pressing his face into her hair. "It will be all right over there," he said quietly. 

"I'm trying very hard to believe that," she replied, voice muffled against his shirt. "But part of me is afraid I won't even be able to walk through the door."

"Then you turn around and come back home. I'll deal with the rest of them."

He thought he might have heard her sniffle when she nodded in response. He just held her a little tighter, rubbing her back. After a moment of silence she whispered, "I love you. I know that may seem strange after what happened upstairs. But I do. And I really wanted you to know before I left."

He tipped her chin up so he could see her face. "I love you. I suppose I should have started with that."

She laughed a little. "It might have helped, yeah."

The laugh made him feel better. And he was glad she said it. He so wanted to, but worried it would make things worse. He kissed her. "We have plenty of time."

She nodded again. "I know. We'll figure it all out."

They ate their eggs, and then went into the office for a meeting. Nat was cautious, but willing to send her over to London. Jo left to send her message through Syn, and the rest of them were left to discuss the upcoming mission, which had been thoroughly spec'd out prior to he and Jo being summoned.

Nat handed out reports. "It'll be a small team. We're not staging a full assault. Cap, Charlie, Thor and Syn. She's been asking for something to do with Loki gone."

"We're going in to disable or destroy their alien weaponry," Charlie said. "Hopefully not kill too many people. Strictly black ops." He looked up at Thor. "No cape," he said with a grin.

"None of you respect the garb of a true warrior," he muttered in return.

"Today you need to dress like a spy," Nat said. "Go. Everybody. Do what you need to."

They all stood and filed out. Anja caught Steve at the door. "Pepper just called. Loki is coming to pick Jo up this afternoon so you might want to head over to say goodbye."

He ducked his head. "Thank you."

She nodded and ran off, yelling at Charlie about something. Nat came up behind him. "You sure you're okay with her going?"

He looked over at her. "Do people ask your husband's permission before you do dangerous things?"

Nat smirked a little. "I wasn't asking permission. I was inquiring, as a friend, how you were feeling about it. It's not like I was going to stop her if you said no."

"I will worry, of course. But I have faith in her abilities. And I trust Loki to have her back."

"So do I." Nat was a very accurate judge of character, so her approval actually did make him feel better. "I'm impressed she's willing to do it, given her history."

"I think that is because she trusts me." He hadn't actually thought about that until the words came out of his mouth, but he was just as sure it was true. Which managed to make him feel better about this morning, too.

Nat nodded. "Sometimes that's enough." She touched his arm. "Go see her off. Give them my best. It's going to be a rough few days for us all."

"I wish you were coming," he said, even though he knew why she couldn't.

She smiled. "So do I. But I promised Clint a long time ago that I was done. I'm not as fast as I was and that can mean the difference between life and death in this work."

"I know. I'll see you in the morning."

*

_London_

London smelled exactly the way she remembered it. Loki had picked her up from the Stark's New York house a few minutes ago and was now sitting across from her in a pub as she drank a fortifying beer.

"You know it's not going to actually effect you," he said finally.

"It's a mind over matter thing," she informed him, sipping the pint she'd just started. "Also, I'm stalling."

He studied her. "I remember the day I met you, you didn't even want to go into our building. Just because we were somewhat connected with Shield."

Oh, how she did not want to talk about this. There were a lot of things that talking could solve. She was fairly certain this wasn't one of them. She'd told Steve, ages ago, on the ship back from Greece, but hadn't exactly spread it around otherwise.

She took a long drink of the beer and said, "Last time I walked into a Shield office they strapped me to a table, cut me open and left me like that until I escaped."

He was quiet for a long moment. He didn't seem like the sort of man who would pat her arm and tell her he was sorry. For the moment she was glad of that. Sympathy sometimes didn't help. "I'd hate them too," he finally replied.

"Hate is better than fear," she said, trying hard to believe it.

"Maybe. Fear can be paralyzing. But hate can be toxic."

Steve had told her the history of his various teammates while they were on the island. She knew about Loki and the coup and his continuing troubles with his family. So his rather moderate view of hate was a little surprising. "I'm hoping that foiling their evil plans can purge some of the toxin," she admitted. "Let me move on." And wasn't he the last person she'd thought to have such a conversation with.

"You know I'm not actually Asgardian," he said, very much to her surprise. Before she could open her mouth to ask what, then, he was, he went on. "I am Jotun. The Frost Giants. Odin found me in the aftermath of a battle as a baby and took me home to be raised as his son. His second, inferior son, mind you. But. . ." He shrugged. "The coup and all that followed was because I found out and didn't handle it well. I think I thought that if I destroyed Jotunheim, somehow I would no longer be a monster, because all the other monsters would be dead." He looked up at her. "Syn knows, obviously. So does Thor. We told Natasha when Hela was born because she was there for the birthing and I wanted her warned in case the baby came out blue. Mostly, it's a well kept secret."

"I won't tell anyone," she said quietly. The only person she'd even want to was Steve and she was fairly certain he would respect a secret of this magnitude not being hers to tell. "Little confused why you're telling me."

"You told me something private and I'm returning the favor?" He took a drink of his own beer. "People think I tried to steal my father's throne and plotted to kill my brother out of greed or jealously. But I did it because my entire sense of myself had just been, well, destroyed. It was anger and grief and fear. I thought I had to blow up an entire planet just to be worthy of my family. But it only made it worse. Now my mother has never held her grandchild and nearly everyone I know thinks I probably have a price. I thought telling you would help you trust me. And also that when I say acting out of a very negative gut emotion—like hate—can be very bad business, I'm not just blowing smoke up your skirt.”

She was quiet a moment, staring at the foam clinging to the side of her pint glass. She wasn't entirely sure what other emotion she could funnel towards this particular adventure. She'd gone after the weapons on a whim, in an effort to spend time with Steve. It had been harmless. She wasn't generally one to stick her neck out for the good of the world. This was, essentially, personal. This group had hurt her and a very large part of her wanted to pay them back for it. And for what they had done to Steve. But Loki was going to be in there, too. Any mistakes she made could affect him, too. He was hard to kill, but he also had a lot to lose. Going in hot headed was dangerous for them both. She didn't think she'd forgive herself if she got someone else hurt because she was blinded by a vendetta. Expressing that to him probably crossed the touchy feely line for both of them, though.

The dregs of her beer were warm and bitter, but she finished it anyway and wiped her mouth. "Hate got me this far. But it's not the only thing pushing me forward. I'd like to know what they're up to and stop them from igniting the powder keg that is Europe right now. And I'd like us both to get back to our loved ones." She pointed out the window, towards the building that held Shield. "I was very much in love with the last guy I walked through those doors with. I think you're underestimating how much I trust you already."

“I do that sometimes. Syn chides me for it.” 

Jo smiled, then blew out a breath. "I'm ready when you are."

He grinned. "Lets go be devious."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Long Live the King_


	14. Long Live the King

_Switzerland_

The thermal spring spa resort where they where were staying was quiet and and not too crowded, giving them plenty of space for planning and recon. It was a very un-military location, which is why Nat must have chosen it. Syn made lots of jokes about getting a mud bath. 

At the moment, however, Steve had other problems. "How does that qualify as a suit? You are barely covered."

"This material is plenty sturdy, I promise. It's just very thin." Charlie tapped the chest plate. "This is uru. Well, the top layer."

As far as Steve knew, the metal of his shield was unmodifiable. "How did you do that?"

"The pieces my father brought back from Africa. It turns out that if you get it really, really hot, it can be hammered with Mjolnir."

"I got to play blacksmith," Thor said, sounding very proud of himself. 

"Fine. But you have no guns, no flight, no—"

"No encumbrances. That's the point. I can carry a gun. But the full armor with the machine guns and the batteries is cumbersome. It's hot and it weighs a hundred pounds. It's for combat. This is for espionage." He touched a button on his wrist, and a ring of sharp, tiny needles popped up. "It does launch poisonous darts, though. And I have a grappling hook between my shoulder blades. Tie the rope to Thor and you can all use me like a gondola."

"What a charming mental image," Syn said from where she was sitting. She was doing some sort of stitching—needlepoint or the like—and didn't even look up when she spoke. Steve was starting to feel like she and he were the long suffering parents on a really bizarre vacation with their rambunctious sons.

"Dad and I have been trying to get something like this to work for ages," Charlie continued. "This seemed like the best time to test it out. I even have the walking med clinic in case it does go wrong."

"Is that what they call me around the office?"

"We like to give people nicknames," Charlie replied. He looked up at Steve. "Cap, I'm a grown man, and this is what I'm wearing."

"Put something over your hair," he said finally. "It's very noticeable."

"There's a helmet."

Steve threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine." He looked over at Syn. "Are you ready?"

She arched an imperious brow at him and gestured with a hand. Her dress melted into the leather and scale armor she favored, which was utterly incongruous with the needlepoint she was still holding. "Yes."

He smiled. "That's a neat trick."

Under the cover of darkness, they hiked into the mountains. Steve had to admit, Charlie's new suit was dead silent, which couldn't be said for any of the previous ones. He supposed he did need to remind himself that Charlie had been an adult for a number of years now, and didn't need to be fussed over.

If he thought about it long enough, he could probably admit that he was worried about Jo, and just directing that at the next closest target. 

The found the campsite of the militia and Charlie and Syn went ahead to scout it. Thor and Steve hunkered in the dark, waiting for them to return and plan their attack.

"Loki will not let anything happen to the Lady Jo," Thor said after a while, in a remarkable moment of insight.

Steve looked over at him. "I know. And I've got his wife. But I still worry about her anyway. I suppose that's normal." He paused. "Is it normal?"

Thor lifted a shoulder. "Jane does not rush into battle the way Syn or Jo do. But it is difficult to be apart from her. To not know what is happening or if I could be of use. I can only imagine how much worse it would be if I knew she was in danger." He sighed a little. "I envy Loki and Syn their magic. They can call to each other over great distances and be together in an instant."

"That would be nice." He looked up, seeing Charlie and Syn creeping back through the bush.

They crouched down with them, something else the previous suits hadn't been very good at. "There's around thirty men," Charlie said. "Well armed, from what we saw. Syn said she recognized one of them."

Steve looked at her, startled. She looked pale and sad. "I believe it was the man from the Congo," she said. "The one the stone worked on."

He blinked in surprise. "Kayembe? Are you sure?" What the hell was he doing up here in Switzerland? Steve rubbed his brow. Coulson and Fury had wanted to keep tabs on him, too. Steve had helped talk them out of it. 

"It was at a distance," she admitted. "But I'm fairly sure. I caught a bit of their speech, too and it was partly in French, which I know he spoke."

"That certainly changes things." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "Should we try to talk to him?"

"I would like to," she said. "I didn't speak to him in the Congo, but Loki's impression of him was a man who wanted to do right by his people." Her mouth twisted with the memories of what they had witnessed in the jungle, the men who had held the stone and perished. It had been hard for her to see, harder still to be unable to help. "I want to believe his intentions here are not evil."

"That's a different strategy. We need to do this without being shot."

"I suppose that would confirm he was evil."

"They seemed to be taking turns taking watch," Charlie offered. "We could wait and try to talk to him when he was away from the others."

He nodded. "Syn and I will go."

Thor frowned. "I would be more comfortable if Charlie and I waited closer. In case we're needed."

"All right. But stay out of sight."

"Of course."

"I'll send up a flare if there's trouble," Syn said. "It takes less then an instant and will be easily seen in the dark."

That seemed to mollify Thor and they all headed towards camp, hiding in the trees to watch the guards come and go. Steve had to admire a commander who took a turn at the watch. Of course, it was just a guess that he was in charge. He just assumed someone with his abilities would be.

He passed the spot Steve was hiding with Syn. When he was sure Kayembe was alone Steve nodded to her and she stepped out into view. She held her hands up to show she was unarmed and called out to him in French.

He blinked a moment, and then he smiled. Steve didn't know French, so he didn't know what was said, but the smiling made him think it would be all right to step out himself. Kayembe looked at him, said something else in french before realizing Steve didn't understand. "I remember you," he said, clearly having learned English.

"It's good to see you," Syn said as he came to hug her and clasp Steve's hand. "We didn't expect you to be so far north."

"Life takes you in funny places." He turned, and called out something in French. Two younger men dashed over. Then he turned back to them. "Come inside. We should talk."

Syn glanced at Steve and at his nod they followed Kayembe back to the camp. The got a few curious glances as they followed Kayembe into the large main tent. It had a small stove with a kettle and a paper strewn table with several chairs. Their host gestured to the table, offering them a seat.

It was a moment before Steve finally spoke. "We know why you're here."

Kayembe tilted his head. "Do you? Did you want to help?"

"Start a world war?" he asked. "No, I do not. Though I would be interested to know why you do."

The other man grinned and chuckled a little. "Ah. Then you don't know why we're here." He sat. "There is a war coming. But it is not among the countries of our world."

He straightened a little. "I'm sorry?"

"The man who ran the camp where we met. He worked with creatures. . . not of this world. You know this, yes?"

Steve and Syn nodded in unison.

"They came to me. The creatures. Years ago. They offered to give me the world. Vengeance against those who had done me harm. In exchange for helping them rule the world."

"Can I assume by the fact that you're hiding in the Alps, you said no?"

"Of course. Vengeance may be tempting, but not at the cost of my world. I said no and they went on their way. But I do not for a moment imagine I was the only one they asked, do you?"

Steve looked over at Syn. Had they corrupted Shield? But if they had, why would they be arming the rest of the world? He looked back at Kayembe. "That's why you're amassing alien weapons? To fight them."

He nodded slowly and gestured to the tent wall. "These men know of what happened at the camp. The lost fathers, uncles, brothers to the stone. They believed me when I told them what would be coming. I know we will not be able to defeat them. But we can perhaps carve out a safe place and fight as best we can."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" he asked, though he probably didn't need to. Really, who would believe him, and how would he get that sort of access? When his team left the congo, they hadn't told Kayembe where to find them. Maybe if he'd read enough news he'd have figured it out, but even then. . . "I'm sorry," Steve added.

Kayembe lifted a shoulder. "There was no way for us to know. I had hoped to live a life of peace but it was not to be."

"What did they look like," Syn asked softly. "The creatures?"

The other man looked at her. "They are shaped like men, but thin and spindly. Their skin is green, wrinkled and leathery like that of a lizard. And their lips do not fully cover their teeth. They have the teeth of a predator."

Syn cursed softly and rubbed her head. "There was only men? No women?"

"None," Kayembe confirmed. "And they way they looked and spoke of the women here was unkind."

"I take it you know what they are?"

She nodded. "The Badoon. They're savages. Conquerors. Their own civilization collapsed when the men enslaved the women. Eventually the genders separated entirely, with the Brotherhood striking out into the stars looking for new planets to conquer. The Sisterhood stays on their mother planet for the most part, claims to be pacifist. But you wouldn't want to meet any of them in a dark alley."

"When they came to London they attacked with machines. And they wanted to build superhumans. Or is this a different set of aliens." He looked up at the ceiling. "Jesus."

"I don't know. They have space travel technology and tend to steal new tech from those they conquer. The robots could have been the product of such an acquisition. They could also have made an alliance with someone more strategically competent. There's no way to be sure. But we should warn Loki what he's really dealing with."

Steve nodded, then he looked at Kayembe. "My team has the backing of the United States government. We'll be back, with better help than just the two of us."

He smiled widely. "That is very good news. We will be here, ready."

*

_London_

Slowly, Loki had begun to piece together the story. Shield had been arming all of Europe, carefully balanced to keep them from attacking each other, but each well armed to face a repeat invasion attempt—just as Coulson had told them. Then, at some point, they began being diverted to anarchist groups intent on _starting_ a war. What he still could not figure out was why.

"There's no rhyme or reason to it," Jo said, looking over some of the shipping manifests she had stolen out of one of the file rooms. Loki couldn't wait to tell Captain America that his girlfriend knew how to pick locks. "The militias get the same weapons as the major allies. And they're funding multiple militias. They can't possibly think the mutually assured destruction plan will work with anarchists. There has to be something else going on."

"I have heard some of the highest level agents speaking of The Merchant," Loki mused. "I've been able to learn absolutely nothing about him."

She propped her chin on a hand. "The title alone is both promising and ominous."

"A weapons manufacturer, perhaps? Or ammunition or such? Someone who would profit from a huge war. If they're trying to get one started. . . that's who would profit. I don't know the business, but someone had to fill the void Stark left when he got out of that industry." 

"I suppose I could dig in the files some more." She stacked the papers up and tucked them back into a folder. "Spies or no, if someone is pulling all the strings there has to be a paper trail somewhere."

"You really are an excellent spy," he told her.

Her grin was almost feral. "Thank you. But I really expected there to be more punching when I signed on for this."

"Me too." He pulled out his pocket watch. "I have a meeting. I didn't expect there to be so many meetings."

She gave a jaunty salute. "Good luck. I"ll try to sneak these back into storage."

He left her with the files and made his way down to the conference room where his meeting was. There was no one inside save one man he did not recognize, dressed all in gray. "Loki of Asgard," he said. "Or is it Jotunheim?"

The mention of his heritage, however oblique, set him immediately on guard. He made a show of arranging his jacket cuffs. "I lay allegiance to neither, at the moment," was all he said.

"Is there anywhere you do lay allegiance?"

"Myself, generally. I've yet to betray it." He flashed what Syn called his Trickster grin. "Though I've been known to engage in temporary alliances, here and there. You're the one they call the Merchant, then?"

"I am. Would you be interested in a trade?"

Intriguing though it was, he ignored the question a moment. "Not The Merchant of Earth, I wager." There was a subtle. . . wrongness to the man's appearance. The whiff of glamour magic in the air. Syn could have told him for certain, but Loki steeped himself in enough of the stuff to know it when he saw it.

"No, of course not. If I were of this petty little planet we would not be discussing this."

Of course. It couldn't just be humans being stupid and messing up their planet. It had to be aliens, as well. "What sort of trade did you have in mind?"

"The Earth would be yours to rule, in return for some things I need from it. And, of course, assistance in the conquest."

"You've piqued my interest. Though, to be honest, I'm a bit confused. What is it about this ridiculous blue ball that makes it so conquerable? Why, it's barely been twenty years since the last attempt."

"There is an element in the ground here that is rare where I am from. I want it."

"Well, I suppose that's simple enough. What is it? Gold? Copper?"

His eyes narrowed. "Why does that matter?"

Loki raised a shoulder in an easy shrug. "It doesn't," he said, wary of spooking his prey. "I'm known for my idle curiosity. Is the element the only thing you require?"

"I have an army I promised human women."

It took a great deal of effort to keep his reaction mild. Merely a curled lip to indicate his disgust. Loki had long ago acknowledged his moral code was a bit shakier then others. But even he drew the line at slavery. And the implied purpose of women only slavery set his teeth on edge. "Distasteful," he said, keeping his voice smooth and calm. "But I suppose I have no use for them."

"One more thing. I shall require a. . .token. To demonstrate that you have joined my side."

Loki's mouth tightened in annoyance. "A show of good faith?" He gave another idle shrug. "Well, I'm not known for my reliability. What would you have of me?"

"I would like you to give me the woman." Something on Loki's face caused the man's eyes to widen in fear, and he held his hands up. "Not your wife. You obviously may keep her and make her your queen. You should build her a palace and deck your small child in silk and diamond robes. The other one. The blonde one you recruited from America." 

Oh, Jo was going to murder him. Or Steve would. Even Syn. Perhaps all three of them together. He curled his lip again. "Good heavens, why? I suppose she's handsome enough but charming she is not."

"I think she would make an excellent gift to my head commander."

Loki was looking forward to meeting said commander and removing his head from his shoulders. If Jo didn't do it first. Currently, he just wanted to be away from this meeting, to sort out what he had learned and send the information back. "If that's your price, so be it. I'll bring her for you in the morning."

"Today," The Merchant said quietly. "Immediately, in fact.

Loki fussed with his cuffs again in an effort to hide any anger there might be in his gaze. "You drive a hard bargain," he said, voice neutral. Refusing would mean the end of all this. He had no idea the forces this man had at his disposal and no time to get information to Jo or Syn. Agreeing was risky, but would buy him time. "Very well. I'll go fetch her for you, then?"

"I will await your return," the man in gray replied. "I hope to fit you with a crown soon."

Loki gave a stiff nod and stood. He opened the door to find two Shield agents waiting there. He glanced back at the Merchant. "Am I to have escorts on this ever-so-dangerous mission?"

The other man gave a shrug, a mimic of one of Loki's own. "I am a cautious man."

Loki only sneered, walking out into the hall, ignoring the men who followed him. He thought about trying an illusion. He thought about finding some way to transmit some sort of message. he thought about killing his escorts and making a run for it.

He was not used to being out of control of a situation. He always had a plan. But, quick on his feet as he was, he could not formulate a way out before they had reached Jo's room. Blowing out a breath, he rapped on the door. "You're needed," he called out.

Something in his voice must has given something away, because when she opened the door her eyes were already narrowed in suspicion. She took in the men flanking him, then met his gaze. "Right now?"

"I'm afraid so." He gestured grandly down the hall. Very deliberately, she stepped out of the room, watching him the whole while.

He wracked his brain for something unsuspicious to say. They walked down the hall, and he said, "There has been a change of plans. I told you once that everyone has a price. Someone has paid mine."

Jo stopped walking and looked at him. Her expression gave nothing away, but he saw in her eyes she was trying to decide what he meant. The other agents each took one of her arms and she glanced at them before meeting Loki's gaze again. "Wish I could say I'm surprised," she said, voice low. She fought the men as they steered her forward and into the room where The Merchant waited.

Loki saw a flicker of surprise cross the other man's face. He stood and looked Jo up and down, before turning his attention to Loki. "I do enjoy it when I judge a man's character so accurately."

"The only thing I've ever wanted was a crown." He gestured at Jo. "And she has a dog I'm rather fond of. I wanted to buy it, now I can simply take it."

To her credit she gave absolutely no sign she'd caught his little code. The two agents began to drag her away, through another door and she fought them. He caught her gaze as she went past and she smiled, bowing as much as the grip on her arms would allow. "Long live the king," she told him, before allowing herself to be dragged away.

He hoped that meant she'd gotten the code. He kept his face blank as she disappeared through the door.

He had to get her back as quickly as possible. Which meant he had to get help. "I'd like to have my family here, now that I've secured my position," he told The Merchant.

"Of course," the other man said easily. "I have to speak with my commander to prepare for the invasion proper. I'll be in touch when you're needed."

"I will be back in the morning." He smiled, making an attempt to look lecherous. "Such a victory requires an evening's entertainment."

The Merchant waved a hand, apparently uninterested in such things. Loki took his leave, teleporting before his next breath.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _When Plans Are Made Not Everyone Has to Like Them_


	15. When Plans Are Made Not Everyone Has to Like Them

_Switzerland_

Syn needed to compose her messages to Loki carefully, using a code they had worked out in case the little notes were discovered. By the time they'd hiked back, everyone was exhausted. Now it was morning. Syn was writing her message, the rest of them were packing. The train would leave in three hours, and they had a bumpy wagon ride in between.

Steve was rather surprised when Loki materialized in their midst.

Syn dropped her pen and threw herself at her husband. Steve supposed she was probably used to him appearing suddenly. "What's wrong?" she asked after a moment, not loosening her grip.

"I've met the mastermind," Loki said, pressing his cheek against her hair. "It's far worse than we thought."

Steve stood up. "Where's Jo?"

Loki looked positively guilty when he looked his way. "Short version. There is an imminent alien invasion of earth. The leader is calling himself The Merchant. He has an army he's promised human women to in return for helping him take over. He offered me a place as king in return for my help but required I turn Jo over to him as proof of my allegiance. I was unable to warn her. I came as soon as I could to get reinforcements."

Whatever emotion came over Steve, he wasn't entirely sure it's name. Only that it was quick, and hot, and very ugly. He was only dimly aware of moving, but a moment later he had Loki against the wall by his throat. "You _gave_ them her."

"I had no choice," he snapped. He could probably have broken Steve's grip—and his arm—if he'd wanted. That he let the manhandling continue was a good sign of how guilty he felt. "And I tried my best to assure her it was a ploy. To do anything else would likely have blown our cover and meant both our deaths."

Thor touched Steve's arm lightly. "The faster we plan an attack, the sooner your lady is safe."

He shook Thor off. Supposedly he had Asgardian strength, maybe he'd find out of good that was. "It's not just a ploy, you left her there! Do you have any idea what they did to her the last time they had her?"

Loki's eyes narrowed. "I know _exactly_ what they did. And I did not take my actions lightly. You can continue to throttle me or you can heed my brother and we can go and rescue her and you can _both_ throttle me. I daresay she has more right to it then you."

He wrestled his anger under control. His fear. Enough to let him go and step back. Though he had not entirely made up his mind about punching the man anyway. He turned and stalked away to keep himself from doing so.

"It's the Badoon," Syn told Loki, though Steve noted she didn't immediately run to his side again. She explained what they had learned from Kayembe and Loki confirmed it lined up with what he knew.

"The Merchant is no Badoon, though. He's after some mineral he claims can be found here. The Badoon are just the cannon fodder."

"We can deal with the invasion later," Charlie said. "Where is Jo likely to be?"

"There are cells beneath the headquarters," Loki said with a glance at Steve. "A dungeon. I imagine she'll be held there until the Badoon arrive."

He rubbed his mouth, feeling nauseous. "How long will it take us to get there?"

"I can have us there in an instant," Loki said. "I have no idea what sort of guard they will have on her, though. And once we do this our hand is shown and we've a war on our hands."

"Then we'll have a war." He had to get her out of that dungeon. He _had_ to. He looked at Charlie. "Did you bring the combat suit, too?"

"Yeah, but. . . are you sure this is the right play here?" Charlie looked worried, like he thought Steve might go after him next. "This is months of reconnaissance you're throwing away without even checking into the office."

Steve dug out his shield from the box he'd just packed it in. "I'm sure Loki will enjoy explaining that to Nat. I hear she, too, loves defensive indignation." 

"I'll explain anything you like to her. She, at least, tends to be clearheaded."

"Darling, you aren't helping," Syn said quietly. "Steve. I know you're worried, but Jo is strong and in no immediate danger. She would want us to be smart and not make things worse. Loki can have us in the States immediately and we can plan a proper rescue."

"You don't know that to be true. I don't have some magic psychic link with her, and neither of us has any special powers. They could be torturing her. Or worse. You—you have no idea." Behind the shield, he could see his hand shaking. He needed to get his emotions under control, especially if he was possibly going to have to go alone.

"I would not have left her if that were happening," Loki said. "They don't want her hurt, they don't want information. She's. . . a gift. For the commander. I know it's disgusting and I can only imagine what you're feeling. But it buys us time. I was guaranteed the night. There will be no action until the morning. Let's use the time to plan an attack that ends their threat."

Steve turned to look at him. "Believe it or not, rape doesn't sound any better than torture."

"Try imagining her ripping off the genitals of anyone that tries. It helps." The words were flip, but now that some of the anger had quelled, he could see Loki's guilt and worry. It did nothing to make him forgive him, but at least he knew he was taking this seriously.

He didn't think punching him would actually make him feel better. Punching the wall might. Jo was a fan of punching things when dealing with overwhelming emotion. He'd promised Jo she could trust Loki. That she could trust _him_. And yet, here they were. He rubbed his hands over his eyes.

There was a few heartbeats of terribly, awkward silence, then Syn spoke in the firm, no nonsense tone of a general. "We're going to New York. Right now." She walked forward and grabbed Steve's arm, then looked at Loki expectantly.

"My armor," Charlie said weakly, stepping forward so Loki could touch him. 

"Loki will come back for it while we explain the situation to Nat."

Thor joined the circle. He felt a wave of dizziness, and then they were in the darkened front hall of the Bartons' house. Of course, it was the middle of the night in New York. They weren't even standing there long enough to make much of a sound, when an arrow whizzed past Steve's ear and struck Thor in the arm.

Syn snapped and the lights flared on, revealing Anja in the doorway with her next arrow already notched. She lowered the bow and stared at them. "Jesus, don't any of you knock?"

"Feel free to shoot Loki, he left Jo in a Sheild dungeon." Steve said. "We need to talk to your mother, right now."

Bless her, she turned without a word and raced for the stairs.

Syn had yanked the arrow out of Thor's arm and was now healing it. "Go get Charlie's armor," she ordered Loki, still in her general voice. He disappeared in a shimmer of green light. "Charlie, there should be a bottle of Asgardian liquor in Clint's cabinet for when we come to visit. Go get your uncle Steve a shot of it."

"Yessum," he muttered, scurrying off.

He turned to look at her. "I don't need to be drunk."

"That's why I said shot and not the whole bottle." She lifted her hand and inspected Thor's arm, then tossed aside the arrow she was still holding. "You look like you want to cry, punch things and scream all at the same time. A fortifying drink can only help." 

There was the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs and Nat appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a red silk robe, her hair a mess. "What the hell?"

"It was urgent," Thor said, before Steve could open his mouth. He explained everything that had happened. Kayembe, the Badoon, the Merchant, and what happened to Jo. Halfway through, Charlie pressed a glass into his hand. Toward the end, Loki reappeared with the armor.

Nat had sat on a low footstool and was now rubbing her temples like she wanted a drink of her own. She asked Loki some logistics questions regarding the layout of the building and how many agents were likely to be on hand to fight back. "All right," she said finally, sounding tired. "The way I see it, the mission in two fold. Maybe three fold." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Rescue Jo. Stop the invasion. Capture or otherwise neutralize the Merchant. And we're going to need teams on all three of these fronts if we're going to succeed." She looked at Loki. "Have we ever tested your upper capacity for teleportation?"

"I topped out at fifty," he said.

She rubbed her eyes. "Anja's calling the Starks. Banner should be willing to go. I have you all. And a few dozen agents I can mobilize quickly." She shook her head. "It'll have to be enough."

"Do you really think you can stop the invasion?" Charlie asked. "Without, you know, an army?"

"Well, I'm rather hoping we stop the invasion before it becomes an army. They'll need a portal of some kind to come through. Shut that down and end the threat. It worked once."

"I could probably find that out," Loki said, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. "I am fairly certain I can." He looked at Steve. "But it requires maintaining my cover."

Nat looked from one to the other. "How much time do you need?"

"I don't know. It could be a couple of days."

Steve had his drink now. It didn't help. Anja had come back to the doorway, and her father had joined her. These were his friends. He wanted to trust them. But he found himself saying, "I'm sorry, no."

Nat met his gaze and he saw her warring with herself. He knew she took her duties seriously. The last line of defense between the world and all the weirdness it held. They'd saved it from aliens once. Now they were back on their doorstep and she had the opportunity to stop them before it started. All it would take was leaving Jo there in a hole for a few days.

She looked over at Syn and Loki, then at Clint. She sighed softly and her shoulders slumped. "People take president," she murmured, almost too quiet to hear. "Get Jo out. Find the Merchant, do what you can to mess up his plans but I can't—I can't sacrifice one for the other."

"In that case I can just teleport over and grab her," Loki said. "The op's blown, but. . ." He shrugged.

There was a moment of silence, and then Anja said, "She would _not_ want you to do that." Everyone turned, and she held up her hands. "Nobody punch me. But leaving us in the dark waiting for aliens to invade? Putting the entire world at risk to spare her a few days suffering? She'd kill you."

"Syn said that, too," Thor piped up after a pause, prompting Syn and Loki to both nod.

Steve didn't like that, being calmer, he might even agree with her. His desire to protect her warred with his attempts to remember she was a soldier. "It's not just about suffering. If there were some way to tell her. . ."

Syn looked at Loki. "Do they know you're here?"

He nodded. "I told him I was coming to get you. To tell you of my new deal."

"Well, that's perfect. If you take me back with you we can double our efforts. You hunt for their portal technology and I can find a way to get word to Jo. They won't pay me any mind, i'm a woman."

"Who can't lie," Nat pointed out.

"I don't have to lie. I just have to word what I say carefully. Or stay silent and vapid, which will work even better."

"I want her to know we will kick the door in if she wants us to," Steve said.

"There are spells you can use even if you aren't a magic user. Something simple she can use to call Loki," Syn looked up at her husband. "Between us we should be able to come up with something."

He nodded slowly. "She'll know she has a way out. Meanwhile we'll have a little more time to get as much information as possible."

"Steve?" Nat said quietly. "Can you handle that? For just a few more days?"

"Yes. As long as it's all right with her."

"Agreed." She looked at Syn and Loki. "Do what you need to do. Get back here the instant there's trouble. Keep me posted. We'll start sending agents over, get ready for when it all goes down."

"The Airship can be to London in two days," Charlie said. "We can pack it with reinforcements."

"Good idea." She looked at the clock on the mantle. "It's too late to go back to sleep. I'll make coffee and start making phone calls."

*

_London_

Men were idiots, no matter the species.

Jo had decided this when the two agents—who definitely weren't human, based on how easily they had manhandled her—had tossed her into this cell and chained her to the wall. The chain appeared to be that fancy alien metal that Steve's shield and Thor's hammer were made of. She made a few attempts at snapping the chain or bending the cuff, but quickly gave up on it. There was no getting through it, even with her strength.

However, even the strongest chain in the universe had to be attached to something. And these idiots had bolted hers to very old stone and given her plenty of slack.

Chipping away at the old dungeon wall gave her something to do, which helped settle her thoughts. Steve had mentioned something about a dungeon once when talking about his time at Shield. She'd never seen it before, having been strapped to a table in the labs upstairs. She supposed that if she had been this would be a bit more stressful. She didn't know why she wasn't more panicked. She had just been betrayed by a man she thought she could trust, and handed over to very bad men. Aliens. Whatever. Seemed like the sort of thing that should cause her to panic.

_"And she has a dog I'm rather fond of. I wanted to buy it, now I can simply take it."_

That _had_ to have been code. There was no other reason for him to say it. Unless he actually had gone completely mad and lost his grip on reality. Thinking about that caused the panic to start bubbling up, so she chose to ignore it. It didn't seem likely, anyway.

Loki was coming back for her. This was a part of his plan and rescue was on its way. She grit her teeth and chipped at the wall with her fistful of chain. She'd be ready when they got here.

She heard the lock slide in the door, and she stilled, putting her hands down slowly, moving her body to block her work. The door opened, and a man stepped in. "There' a healer here," he said. "She's come to inspect you, make sure you're not carrying any diseases. Make sure you will be a fit gift."

"Oh, well I'd hate to be a poor gift."  
 The guard sneered and stepped aside, revealing Syn standing behind him. Jo didn't let her complete and utter relief show. 

Syn looked her up and down then waved a hand dismissively at the man. "You may go. This is private and I do not want you distracting me." The man made a face, and Jo held her breath. If he began asking questions, Syn could not lie.

"Call me if she gets out of line," he said, and slammed the door closed. Syn held up a finger, not moving. She tilted her head like she was listening to something, then nodded and stepped forward to hug her tightly. "You're all right?"

"I'm fine," Jo said, pressing her face into the other woman's hair. "But I have never been so glad to see someone in my entire life."

She kept her voice at a whisper. "Loki said there was no time to warn you, and he was afraid they'd kill you both if he refused."

"I figured it was something like that. You tell him I knew he didn't turn on me, all right? I didn't doubt him for a minute." She was still holding Syn, so that must be true. She leaned back. "What's the plan?"

"We're trying to find more information on the imminent alien invasion. I'm afraid we can't rescue you without blowing our cover." She reached into a pocket and pulled out a loop of green and gold thread. "We made this," she explained, tying it on Jo's wrist. "If you're in danger or they come to take you to this commander snap it and Loki will come and get you out. We're trying to buy time, but no one wants you hurt. All right?"

Jo touched it. "All right. Thank you."

"Steve is very worried about you. He tried to strangle Loki and at one point got Natasha to agree to scrap the whole op and come fight our way to you."

She swallowed down the sudden tears that welled up at the thought of Steve. Of course he'd been beside himself when he heard what happened. "Can you get him a message?" Syn nodded. "Tell him I'm all right, that I'm not afraid. I'm already planning my next quilt."

"I will." Syn paused, and then added. "He was willing to start a war for you."

Crying would do no good. She refused to do it. "I know." She took a deep breath. "He asked me to marry him. Before I came here."

"Oh. Congratulations. Don't get married on Asgard, the ceremony is interminable."

"I said no. It was so sudden and I was caught a bit flat footed," she explained at Syn's arched brows. "And I just. . . it's too big for me to contemplate. Forever with someone. Till death do us part is a bit longer then it used to be."

"My life has always been this long, so to a certain extent I don't understand. But you are not immortal. Alfans die, so do Asgardians. Of injury and illness and battle wounds. My parents were killed in the very prime of their lives. It could be millennia. It could be the battle this week."

Jo let out a breath, looking down at the chain on her wrist. "I never thought of it like that. I've survived so much I wouldn't have as a human. It's hard to think like you do. But it isn't as though we live peaceful lives. I could lose him. Easily."

"You could. All you can control is what you do now. Loki and I are both fans of taking what happiness we can get."

That made her smile a little. "He's a much better man than he gives himself credit for."

"That is most certainly true. He has a very unfortunate tendency to react to things with anger and sarcasm, which are often provocative. But he is very upset over this." She waved her hand around.

"He did his best to reassure me. It was enough." She blew out a breath. "I'll be all right. At least I'll have plenty of time to think."

"We will be back as quickly as possible."

Jo nodded. "I have faith. Good luck. Kick some ass for me."

"I promise," she said. She hugged Jo, and then she stood, calling for the guard. She made a show of standing sullenly by the wall as Syn strode out of the cell. When she was alone she ran a finger along the delicate thread wound around her wrist. Then she started hacking away at the stone again. It gave her something to do. And no one had said anything about her not breaking herself out.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Apology, Geography, and Chivalry_


	16. Apology, Geography, and Chivalry

_USS Helios, Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean._

Everyone else on the airship was asleep, but Steve didn't even try. All he would end up doing was laying there. He found himself a spot near the front windows on the bow, just beside the wheelhouse, where no one would bother him. It was cold, and the wind rattled the glass. It was an unpleasant place to stand, but it suited him just fine.

Not that many dared talk to him. Clint came to check on him once. He'd made jokes about them getting out and climbing the rigging. They'd done that many years ago on Stark's original airships. It had been an excellent way to burn energy and get some fresh air—both of which would probably do him well now. But this airship was traveling at nearly a hundred knots. They'd be blow off the side.

Progress marched endlessly forward.

He wasn't certain how long he stood there. Long enough for the cold to sink in his bones, stirring old, awful memories. He tried to think of nothing at all, because once he started imagining awful things he'd never stop.

There was a faint stir to the air behind him, almost imperceptible. He wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been so used to the silence. He didn't turn to look, not even when Loki came to stand next to him, close enough to punch, but not quite in Steve's personal space.

He turned. "I didn't know you were back. Did you see her? Is she all right?"

"Syn saw her, I was busy playing my part. She's fine. Syn explained the situation and gave her an escape route, so to speak. A thread she can wear on her wrist and snap if she's in danger. It will bring me to her side immediately and I will get her out. She said to tell you she was all right, not afraid and planning her next quilt."

He blew out a breath. "Good. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I can't stay long, they don't know I'm gone and Syn can only cover for me for so long. I just wanted to let you know Jo was well."

Steve nodded. "Please tell Syn she has my gratitude as well."

He inclined his head. "Of course." He was silent a moment, then cleared his throat and spoke quietly. "I believe I did the best I could, given the circumstances. But I realize that I failed you. I swore to protect her for you and I did not. In retrospect, it was a foolish thing to promise, but still. . . I did. I apologize for letting you down."

Steve stared into the darkness. "Everyone keeps telling me this is normal and expected for a espionage operation. Sometimes you have to sacrifice people for the good of the op."

"It's the way of it. There's almost never a clean solution. You almost always have to sacrifice something. I know you would have preferred I sacrifice the mission, instead. Were our places reversed I would say the same. As I said, I thought it was the best course at the time."

"It would have been nice to have been told about that particular fact before hand. But then, we'd have probably said no. And you needed her." 

Loki was quiet a moment. "She's an excellent spy," he offered. "Quite clever. Picks locks."

"She's an excellent spy. You're an excellent liar. Thankfully, I'm excellent at kicking walls in, so hopefully no one will die from this." Steve finally looked at him. "That it might all work out in the end doesn't make it all right."

He inclined his head. "I know. I'm well aware words do very little to heal wounds and intent is generally meaningless. Still, the apology was sincerely meant. And I will do my best to see things right."

Steve looked back at the darkness. "If they kill her, you and I are going to have a fight only one of us will survive." Though if they did kill her, Steve wasn't sure he wanted to be the one who did.

"I would expect nothing less," Loki said. He gave a little bow. "Until next time, Captain." With that, he disappeared in a shimmer of green.

He put his hand over his eyes and leaned against the glass. He hoped it was true. He hoped she was really all right and they weren't just lying to him so he wouldn't make more trouble. A small, paranoid part of him wasn't entirely sure who to trust.

*

Loki appeared in his rooms in London, feeling no better then he had when he'd left. Syn looked up sympathetically at her arrival. "How did it go?"

"If anything happens to Jo I am apparently going to have to engage in a fight to the death with the Captain." He sank into a chair and covered his eyes. "Please tell me you've had some success in finding the portal."

"You know I hate to disappoint you, darling, but no. I've cast every finding spell I know and nothing. Is it possible the location is elsewhere?"

"Theoretically, it could be anywhere. It could be on the north pole."

"That does broaden the search area a bit." She sighed and propped her chin on a hand. "We may need to admit defeat, darling."

"We _can't_. We have to get something useful out of this. We have to." He had absolutely not sold out his friend's woman—a woman who had been betrayed and abused in the past—and gained nothing from it.

Syn's expression changed, lined with worry and sympathy. She knew him well, better than anyone. She'd likely heard the thought as clearly as if he'd said it aloud. She sighed again and glanced at the table she sat at. "What is this?" she asked. "It looks like financial accounting?"

He covered his eyes with a hand. "Paperwork Jo stole earlier. Looking for clues. She must not have had time to return it before—” He waved his other hand vaguely.

"Hmm," she murmured, and she began shuffling through it. He stood up to go dig through his bag, looking for the bottle of Asgardian liquor he'd borrowed from the Bartons. He shouldn't calling it borrowing. He'd just taken it.

He found it and took it to the window, not bothering to conjure a glass. He looked morosely out onto the city. Dark, gray, and foggy, just like his mood. Sometimes he envied his brother the ability to control weather. It would be nice to have the sky always mirror his temperament. He took a long drink of the liquor and tried to think. If he were an alien who wanted to take over the earth, how would he go about it? Where would he bring his army in?

"Loki," Syn said behind him, voice thoughtful and urgent. "Did you know Shield owns a great deal of land in the Carpathian Mountains?"

"I don't even know where the Carpathian Mountains are."

An irritated sigh. "They're in Europe. Left of Russian. There's not much to them. No resources. Just. . . desolate mountains. But six months ago Shield started buying up land there."

He was only half listening. Real estate purchases only interested him if he was the one doing the buying. Then what she'd said sunk in and he half turned. "Desolate? Hard to get to? Not much chance of people stumbling across it accidentally?"

"Yes. It is literally the middle of nowhere. You really should learn more about this planet it's quite. . ." She trailed off, and shook her head. She raised an eyebrow. "It's a strange place to buy a lot of land."

He strode over to the table. "It sounds like a perfect place to hide something."

She looked from the papers to him, frowning. "Why would they need this much space for just a portal?"

"It's not the portal. It's the army. When you invade a place you don't trickle your troops in, you amass at the border and then charge. A portal is too easy to close or interrupt. It’s how we stopped them in London the first time. The army is already here, waiting for attack orders."

He looked at the papers. "Is there a map?"

Syn dug through the paper and pulled out a few crude, hand sketched maps and one more professional one. Together, they lined them up, determining the borders of what he was now certain was a Badoon army base.

He stared at it. "I need to go get my brother."

"We need all of them. Natasha needs to know. And we need to get Jo out. This is far worse than we thought."

Loki nodded, and kissed the top of her head. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I'll be here," she said quietly. "Be safe."

*

Jo nearly had the chain on her left wrist free from the wall when she heard a dull boom from somewhere in the building.

It was starting.

She watched the door a moment, hoping someone would come bursting through immediately. When that didn't happen, she went back to her chains with renewed vigor. She listened to the sounds, getting closer, getting louder. Machine gun fire. Rumbles and explosions. It sounded like a war out there.

The anchor on her right gave, just as there was gunfire in her hallway—and a very distinctive clanking of Charlie's armor. When he opened the cell door, it came clear off the hinges. She grinned so widely her cheeks hurt. "Kid, I could kiss you."

The faceplate flipped up to reveal not Charlie, but his father. "I'll take a raincheck on that, Rogers is having enough trust issues right now."

She laughed and held up her right hand. "Get me out of this?"

Since he had on one of the big suits, there was a cutting tool of some sort on his right arm that made quick work of the chains. Then he stepped back and pressed a button on his arm, turning the dial beside it. "Charlie? Charlie, come in?" He looked up at her. "I put radio in the suits."

"They should drag you out of retirement more often." She wrapped what was left of her chains around her hands. "Can I punch some people? I've been looking forward to that."

"There are people out in the hall, I think." He turned the dial again. "Charlie! Are you there?"

There was a a crackling sound. "I'm a little busy here!" Charlie came back.

"Tell Rogers I've got his girl."

There was no response, but a few moments later there was a very loud crash form the floor above them. They both glanced up. "I'm sure that was a coincidence."

Stark gestured at the doorway. "After you," he told her, slamming his faceplate back into place. She grinned widely and stepped into the hall, finally out of her cell.

"Oh," Stark said. "I almost forgot." He turned around, and she could see Steve's shield hanging on the back of the suit. "This is for you."

She hesitated a moment before taking it. "What is he using?"

"I believe it's his spare one, which is made out of steel."

The shield was heavier than she'd expected, but she slid her arm through the leather straps. "Stupid man," she muttered. "Let's go find him so I can kill him."

"We all do stupid things for love. Men are like that."

They picked their way through the wreckage—and the bodies of a couple guards—to the stairs leading up to the main part of the facility. She probably shouldn't be upset with him. She imagined he'd been quite worried about her. It was more that she wasn't particularly comfortable with the shield. It would have done him far more good.

When they got to the main floor, she finally got to punch someone. A couple of guards came running in from a different hall, saw them, and lifted their guns. Stark responded by firing his own, while she stepped forward and sent one through the wall with a fist to the jaw.

When the hallway was clear, they paused for a moment. There was a crash, and Thor's hammer came flying through the wall, across the hall, out the other side— and then back again. She looked through the hole and could see Thor and Syn on the other side. Syn spotted them and waved brightly. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Jo replied. "Where's Steve?"

"Upstairs, I think. They went looking for The Merchant. Loki went with them."

Stark stepped through the hole in the wall to aid the Asgardians while Jo continued up the stairs, shield held awkwardly before her. It did protect her from a hail of bullets. She waited for a break in the onslaught and rushed the gunman, knocking him out and scooping up the weapon for her own. Right. Now she had a shield, a machine gun and the toughest pair of brass knuckles on Earth. This should be easy.

A door down the hallway blew open and Steve came flying out of it. He crashed against the opposite wall and got back up. The Merchant came through the doorway, shooting a blast of light right out of his hands. Some sort of magical energy; whatever it was, it knocked Steve back again.

The Merchant had his hand up again, ready to do let loose more magic. Instinctively, she knew the gun wouldn't do her any good. She'd never reach him in time to hit him. With few other options, she slid her arm out of the straps on the shield, shifted her grip on it, and flung it down the hall like a discus. It struck the man in the ribs, knocking him off his feet and down the hall.

Steve looked up in surprise, and she saw his face change as he saw her. He struggled to his feet. Behind him The Merchant stood up, and Steve looked away to pick up the shield and block the next blast of magic.

Jo closed the distance between them, ducking into a room to dodge a stray blast. "Hi, honey," she called when she got closer.

"Are you hurt?" The Merchant sent what appeared to be a wall of fire at them, forcing them both back into the room. "Did they hurt you?"

"I'm fine. No one hurt me. I promise." She took the opportunity to stretch up and kiss his cheek. "I missed you."

"I missed you so, so much." He held the shield over them as The Merchant blasted a hole in the wall. "Charlie got bogged down and I don't know where Loki went to." 

She flinched and pressed a little closer to him with the next blast. She lifted her wrist to show him the slender thread still tied there. "Supposedly this will call him right to me."

"I don't want to surprise him and get him killed."

"Last resort, then." Another blast, another chunk of masonry. "We should probably think of something, though."

He glanced behind them. "Go out the window. I think you should be able to handle the jump."

"Are you going to be right behind me?" He didn't look at her, which was answer enough. "I'm not leaving without you."

"I need you to be safe," he told her. "Please."

She swallowed hard. Goddammit, she'd just found him again. At least he had his proper shield now. "I'm not okay with this."

"I know. Please." He frowned and turned his head. "He stopped shooting."

She had been about to turn for the window, but paused and peeked through the closest hole in the wall instead. She could see Loki out in the hallway. He bent down and peered back through the hole. "I think he's dead."

Jo looked back at Steve. "Our magician beat up the evil one," she told him.

"I prefer sorcerer," Loki called from the hallway.

He dropped the shield and leaned back on his heels. "Jesus."

Now that their lives weren't actively in danger she threw her arms around Steve's neck, knocking him onto his ass. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, pressing his face into her neck. She kissed his temple and whispered, "I love you," in his ear.

She felt him tremble a little. "I love you." She leaned back enough to catch his mouth with hers, in a kiss that was probably a little too deep for the current circumstances.

When he finally lifted his head, he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Jo."

"Hey." She touched his jaw with her fingertips. "You didn't do anything, Okay? I'm _fine_ , I swear."

"I promised you that you'd be safe."

"I know you did. But what I was doing wasn't safe, and I knew that, too. I wasn't afraid, not for a second. I knew Loki wasn't really turning on me."

He nodded, and kissed her gently. "I was afraid enough for two people."

"Well, we're together again, now. And hey, we appear to have beaten the bad guy."

He looked up at Loki, who as standing in the doorway, then back at her. "Not entirely."

Of course not. She sighed and they got to their feet, supporting each other. "All right," she said. "Someone catch me up."

"There's an alien army in Romania," Steve said. "The Merchant seemed to be hoping to start a war among the European powers to distract and weaken the armies before beginning their attack. Nat went to meet with the Prime Minister. We need to get all the armies turned on the Badoon or we are all, well, dead."

She blew out a breath, feeling a pit form in her stomach. "Okay." She took another deep breath, then tightened her jaw and nodded. "Okay. What do we do next?"

Loki sighed. "We don't know. Get out of this building, first. And then at some point, there's going to be a war."

"Well, one thing at a time. I'm all for getting out of this building."

"It's good to see you well," he said quietly.

Jo smiled a little. They were neither of them huggers—she was fairly certain it would horrify him if she tried—but guilt was written all over his face. So she stepped close and patted his shoulder, then his cheek. "I still like you," she said. "No hard feelings."

He smiled. "Thank you."

"You still can't have my cat," she added, which made him grin. She crouched scooped up Steve's shield and handed it to him. "Let's get out of here. If we're going to war I want a bath and a steak first."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _Forging a Life_


	17. Forging a Life

Someone had procured a nice hotel room. Jo made the rounds with everyone who was a hugger downstairs—Steve thought he was going to have to pry Anja off. Then he had room service bring up a steak dinner and a bottle of wine. 

Syn stopped Jo in the hallway for a moment, so he went in to run the hot water in the bathtub for her. He sat on the edge of the porcelain tub, thinking it looked just like the one in Stark's bathroom he woke up in all those years ago.

He heard the outer door open and Jo's soft tread on the carpet. "Steve?" She appeared in the bathroom doorway before he could respond. She smiled when she saw him and slumped on the door jamb. "There you are."

He gestured at the tub. "Your bath is almost ready."

She stepped closer and sat next to him on the edge of the tub, leaning on his shoulder. "Thank you," she said softly.

She felt warm and alive against him, something he was very grateful for. He kissed the top of her head. "You need me to wash your hair?" 

"Mmm. That would be nice." She shifted away, unbuttoning a few buttons of her shirt before tugging it up over her head. He watched her, but tried not to be too obvious about it. She'd had a rough couple of days, as well evidenced by the bruises he could see on her skin. Her wrists in particular were ringed with red and purple.

She tossed her clothes into a corner of the bathroom. They were grimy, could probably be cleaned, but he imagined she was just as likely to never want to see them again. She braced herself on his shoulder as she stepped into the tub, first groaning in pleasure, then with a hiss as the hot water touched her abraded wrists.

"The Starks and Thor were talking about making me some gauntlets with the chains," she said, tracing her fingertips over the wounds. "Give me a little more omph in battle."

He searched the bathroom for shampoo. Really, anything to keep from staring at her breasts floating in the soapy water. She was likely even more exhausted than he was, she didn't need him starting something. "Charlie put Uru in his newest suit. Apparently they figured out how to work it."

Shampoo in hand, he turned back to her and found her sitting with her arms crossed on the edge of the tub, watching his every move. "When I came up they were discussing seeing if Syn could make magic fire that would make melting it easier and Thor was telling that his hammer was forged in the heat of a dying star. Which seems excessive." She tilted her head. "Did you get shy in my absence?"

"I was trying to be polite," he replied. "It's been a—" his voice caught in his throat, and he had to clear it. "A really awful couple of days."

She held out a soapy, dripping hand to him. "Someone very smart once told me that even a day filled with apocalypse, small pox and limb amputation could be improved with good enough sex."

He took her hand and crouched next to the tub. "I assumed that was a man thing."

"Well, I'm not exactly the pinnacle of femininity." Her thumb rubbed back and forth over his knuckles. "I don't see anything wrong in expressing comfort physically. Nothing says 'I'm no longer chained in a dungeon' like furniture wrecking orgasms with the man I love."

He leaned in and kissed her, for real this time, letting all his fear and relief pour into it. She groaned softly, into his mouth. She lifted the hand not holding his and buried it in his hair, holding him close. When he lifted his head, he whispered, "Let me wash your hair."

Her fingers tugged his hair lightly but she leaned back. "As you wish."

He stood up. "I am, however, going to come in that tub with you first."

She smiled widely and leaned back, giving him an excellent view of her breasts as he started to unbutton his shirt. He stripped his clothes as quickly as possible, never taking his eyes off her. As he moved closer, she scooted over to make space for him in the tub. The warm water was absolutely heavenly.

Before she resettled, she dunked her hair under the water to wet it. Wet it was darker with different highlights visible then when dry, more bronze then gold. She leaned back on him, back to his chest. She fit perfectly there and they both sighed in content, almost in unison. He poured some of the shampoo into his hand and soaped her hair. He was probably doing a poor job of it as he was very distracted—but she didn't seem to mind given the sounds she was making. 

He rubbed her scalp and the back of her neck, sliding his hands down to dig into her shoulders as well. The muscles there were tight, from the fight or from being held awkwardly while she was chained. He braced her while she slid down again to dunk back under the water and ran his fingers through her hair to help rinse out the suds.

When she was thoroughly clean she leaned into him again. She found his hand and wove their fingers together, then tugged his arm around her waist, deliberately sliding his hand against the soft skin of her hip and belly. He took the invitation for what it was, and brought his other hand down as well. He stroked her slick breasts, and then moved downward, between her legs. Their months on the island with not much else to do had taught him precisely, exactly how she liked to be touched.

He felt her shudder when he found her clit, knew stroking it directly could be too much for her. He used two fingers, one on either side, and pressed, rubbing gently until her breath caught and she tipped her head back against his shoulder. It gave him a perfect view of her body, flushed with pleasure and the hot water, his hand buried in her dark curls, distorted slightly by the water. He caught her breast in his other hand, stroking it before catching the nipple between his fingers and tugging sharply. The little bite of pain made her gasp and he felt her hand clutch at his thigh, fingers digging into him.

He kissed her shoulder, the side of her neck, her earlobe. He held her as she writhed a little against him. "Shhh," he whispered into her ear.

She groaned in response and lifted her hips, silently begging for release. Briefly, he thought of dragging it out longer. But they'd been apart long enough and he wanted her to have this, a little pleasure just for her before they got to the main event. So he gave in and increased his pace, pressing firmly against her and teasing one breast, then the other, just slightly rougher then he wound have been with a normal woman.

Jo whimpered, skin growing hot under his hands. He felt the moment she came. Her whole body tensed, then shook and she made a noise that was almost a sob. He continued to stroke her, feather light, drawing the climax out as long as possible. He waited until she sagged against him, and smiled, kissing her hair. "Better?"

She hummed in pleasure and shifted so she could kiss his mouth. "Much," she told him.

"Good," he replied. "I had room service bring up a steak for you."

That got him a grin and another kiss. "You're an angel."

What he said next was really far, far more of a sacrifice than the simple act of calling room service. "Would you like to go eat it first?"

She hesitated, chewing her lip. "I promise to eat it very, very fast."

He inclined his head. "Go."

She gave him another fast kiss and stood, stepping gracefully out of the tub and wrapping a towel around herself. She swept her hair up in another towel before darting into the main room. There was a pause, then a groan he could hear from the bathroom. Must have been a good steak. That made him smile. He took a fortifying breath, and climbed out of the tub. Thankfully there was still a towel left. He pulled the stopper out of the tub drain. He found robes behind the bathroom door. He put one on and brought the other one out into the bedroom. 

Jo was sitting at the little table the room service had set up. Her towel was gaping, showing both of her long legs and sagging so low on her breasts a good sneeze might have dislodged it. She was about a third of the way through the steak. She smiled when he appeared and offered him the bite currently on her fork.

He shook his head. "It's all yours."

She flashed another smile and ate the morsel with obvious pleasure. She crossed her legs under the table and the towel slipped, revealing more thigh and hip. He reached out and put his hand one her knee, rubbing the skin gently.

Pink rose in her cheeks. Another thing he'd learned was Nordic skin showed blushes almost as easily as Irish. She took another bite and shifted casually, making the towel sag further. He slid his and a little further up her thigh and grinned. "Now you're just teasing me."

"Just keeping you interested," she said lightly. "You like a little teasing," she added, taking another bite and chasing it with a sip of beer. It was earth-made, so wouldn't have any effect on her, but he knew she liked the taste.

"Honey, I'm interested. I'm about a minute away from upending this table."

Her blush darkened, spreading down to her breasts. She ate a few more bites, till there was mostly gristle left. She took another drink of the beer, then turned to him, letting her towel fall off completely. "I'm all yours."

He pushed the table—not quite upending it, but knocking both the water glass and beer glass over. He wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her out of her chair, towards him. She came easily, half stumbling. Her mouth came down on his, free hand burying in his hair. She straddled his thighs, knees digging into the cushion of his chair. He buried a hand in her hair, holding it tight enough it might hurt. He held her as close as he could.

They kissed until they were breathless. She untied the belt of his robe and slid a hand under the soft fabric, stroking his chest and stomach, first lightly, then with the same urgency he found in her kisses. "Here?" she murmured against his mouth. She shifted and rocked so he felt wet heat against his thigh. "Like this?"

He was concerned they'd break the chair, like they broken his wooden porch chair in Nantucket. So he hooked one hand under her thigh and slid off the chair, dropping her on the carpet on her back. He spread her legs wider and thrust into her. He supposed he should be more patient and gentle, but he didn't want to. He couldn't. And she was hot and wet and made a gasp of pleasure in reply.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, knees hitched high so he could thrust deep. She stroked his back, cupped his hips, his ass, urging him on. She murmured to him in Norwegian, which he still didn't speak a word of but had come to associate with her losing control. He figured no matter what she was saying it meant she was enjoying herself.

Which was good, since he had very little control of his own. She was here and she was safe and he _needed_ her. That was all there was in the world right now. He kissed her, muffling the sounds she made. It was hard enough they slid on the carpet. It would hurt her skin, but he couldn't slow, couldn't stop. She gave a series of little cries, mostly lost in his mouth. One sounded a bit like his name. Then she began to tighten around him, her nails digging into his rear, as if she wanted him to still. Her hips lifted, pressed into his and she shook, riding out what appeared to be a rather earth shattering orgasm. It was enough to push him over the edge, and when he came it was so intense even gravity seemed to shift. He lost touch with himself for a moment, and then they hung on, breathing together, sharing it.

They were both content to lay there, tangled together, covered only by the robe he had not, apparently, actually taken off. Jo stroked his back, long idle touches that seemed to be gratitude, affection and praise all at once. Finally, she kissed his cheek and said hopefully, "Bed?"

"Mmm. Yes." He sat up carefully. He wanted to carry her, but his limbs were liquid. So he settled for standing, and helping her to her feet. He shrugged the robe off and she turned back the covers.

The sheets were soft, expensive, and the bed was much larger then the hammock in Nantucket. Still, they found themselves curled up together, touching as much as possible, with her head pillowed on his chest. Jo sighed, sounding utterly content. "it's good to be home. You feel like home, now."

"I wholeheartedly agree with that." He sighed. "I couldn't sleep," he told her.

"When I was gone?"

"When you were gone I slept poorly. Aided, I might add, by Tyv, who slept on my head every night. She'd just shove me right off the pillow. Jane has her, by the way. She and Pepper have the babies at their house in New York." He paused. "When you were captured I didn't sleep at all."

She touched his jaw. "I'm so sorry, Steve."

"Don't be," he said. "Really." He shifted a little to look down at her. "The other night—or last night, I've lost track of what day it actually is—Loki came to the Airship to apologize. Which surprised me, though I was still mad at him. After he left I got to thinking. Having friends to argue with. Having a woman to be worried over. Having an overgrown sheep of a cat pawing my face at two in the morning. That's a real life. Not the one I was planning in 1815. But it's just as genuine and it is _mine_. It's a damn sight better than hiding in my house with nothing but books and canned fruit."

Jo smiled and rubbed a hand on his arm. "I think it's a hell of a life. Better then bumming around mining towns and side shows. When I first went with you I wasn't expecting this. Any of this. Now I have you. People I trust. People I'd fight for, go to war with. I mean, if I can trust Loki, I can trust anyone, right?" She chuckled, then stretched up to kiss him. "You changed my life."

"You know it kind of was Anja's doing. She was going on in that speak-first-think-later way the young are so good at about how at least I had the Asgardians and you were going to die alone. Something like that. Made me feel guilty for not trying harder."

"Well. I was kinda bitchy."

Steve laughed. "Somehow it all worked out."

"Things tend to," she said. "I suppose if I've learned anything in three hundred years, it's that. On a long enough time line, everything will work out just fine."

He sighed. "I hope it's time we have."

She kissed him gently. "We will. I have faith."

"Even with the war?"

"Even then. We have a good team, some warning. You all have saved the world once before. We can do it."

He wrapped his arms around her tighter. "I don't entirely have faith, but I suppose I can borrow yours."

She kissed his chest and resettled, closing her eyes. "I'm happy to share."

"I love you," he told, as he felt sleep tugging at him.

"Love you back," she mumbled, squeezing him. It was the last thing he heard before he drifted off.

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _A Series of Important Meetings_


	18. A Series of Important Meetings

When Jo woke up, the sun was streaming in so brightly she guessed it to be near noon. Clearly the others had decided to let her and Steve sleep. For his part, he was still out cold, and she didn't particularly want to disturb him.

She did get up very slowly, though. Every part of her body was sore—from her wrists to her legs to the rug burn she was pretty sure she had on her back. It would all heal quickly, though. That was the one thing that was nice. 

Unfortunately, the only clothing she had was the bathrobe, or her filthy clothes from yesterday, which she did not want to put on. She suddenly envied Syn and Loki's magic. It would be so nice to just conjure up a new outfit when the mood struck. She slid the bathrobe on and peeked out the door to find the newspaper waiting in the hall. She gathered it up and sat on the bed with it, prepared to entertain herself while waiting for him to wake up.

Instead, she found herself watching him sleep. She still felt a touch guilty, this entire adventure seemed to have been harder on him then it had been on her. If she was going to keep working for Nat he was going to need to get used to her being in danger. Though when, exactly, she'd decided to keep working for Nat she didn't know. It had been that one mission. Then this spying. Now there was a war. She supposed in theory she could say no at anytime. But who the hell turned their back on fighting a war if they thought they could be useful?

She reached out and touched Steve's hair, brushing some off his forehead. No. He was just going to need to come to terms with his warrior woman. The Bartons had managed. Syn and Loki seemed to as well. They'd figure it out.

There was a gentle tapping on the door. When she got up to answer it, she found Anja on the other side, carrying a bundle of cloth. She held it out. "My mother told me to bring this up."

Jo took it and a glance told it and a glance told her it was fresh clothes for her, blouse and slacks and one of the odd Stark brassieres. "Thank you," she said. "I was afraid I'd have to send Steve shopping."

"They're having a meeting downstairs, if you both are up."

She glanced over her shoulder at the pile of sheets. "Up is stretching it. I'll poke him and get dressed. One or both of us will be down in a bit."

"You can probably let him sleep. I think he was awake for three days straight."

She glanced back at him again and sighed. "Okay. I'll get dressed and leave him a note."

Anja smiled at her and dashed back down the hall. When Jo closed the door she heard, "It was two days," from the bed.

He hadn't moved. Hadn't even opened his eyes. She grinned and went over to kiss him lightly. "Morning."

He caught her wrist. "You should come back to bed."

The grip hurt the healing wounds on her arm, but she didn't say anything, just crouched down to his level. "There's a meeting downstairs. Might be important."

His hand slid up her arm, and he opened his eyes. "This is important."

She let him tug her closer, kissing him languidly. "You make a compelling argument." 

He pulled her all the way onto the bed. "You're wearing a robe. It's like an invitation." And he was, in fact, untying the belt.

THe fabric parted and one big hand slid inside, stroking her hip. "I don't appear to be putting up much by way of resistance," she admitted, tangling her fingers in his hair.

He settled her on top of him, and reached up to cup her breast. "They can wait," he whispered. "This is important." She smiled and drew him down for a kiss, indicating her agreement. He tugged the robe off her completely, so she was as bare as him. His hands roamed her, stroking and exploring. It was a much gentler touch than he'd used the night before, but no less arousing. She was soon damp and aching for him. She lifted up to take him inside her. It was slow, now, neither of them in any sort of rush. They weren't going to break the bed this time.

She traced the lines of his chest and stomach, rocking a slow rhythm. It occurred to her, idly, that she should try to teach him Norwegian, though she mostly spoke it at times he'd be equally as distracted. Still, it could be a project, something to pass the time of their long future together. Along with quilts and carpentry. It was nice to think about, to plan. When she thought of it that way the years didn't seem so long, so overwhelming.

 His fingers found where they joined and stroked her, just the way she liked. She closed her eyes, moaning softly at the new sensation. Her own movement changed, growing quick and shallow to match the touch of his hand. Her climax surprised her, pleasure peaking in a sudden rush, clenching her around him, leaving her breathless. He bucked up to her, a couple of fast, hard thrusts. She reached out to hold onto the brass headboard. His fingers dug into her hips and groaned.

The headboard hit the wall with enough force to dislodge a hunk of plaster, and shatter the glass finials on the two posts.

Beneath her, Steve was laughing. "I give up."

She sank down, onto his chest, laughing too hard to speak for a moment. "I think it's the floor or furniture you've built," she said finally, "Maybe if Syn and I ever get drunk and gossipy I can ask advice."

"I adore you. And am now fortified for the meeting."

She grinned. "You were right. That was important."

They held hands when they walked into the meeting downstairs, in the private dining room they'd apparently appropriated. The large table in the middle was covered with photographs. When she got closer, she could see it had to be the base they'd told her about. There seemed to be a terrifying amount of these Badoon.

Natasha was slowly circling the table, selecting photos. She glanced up at Steve and Jo. "Charlie has a camera about the size of a pencil box. We strapped it to Thor and sent him up there disguised as a bird."

"It was a buzzard," Loki clarified with a smile that said he'd really enjoyed making his brother look like a giant carrion bird.

The older woman rolled her eyes. "We didn't want to tip them off. Got some decent images. We're putting together a dossier to present to heads of governments."

Jo reached out to pick up one of the photos to get a better look at it. Syn caught her arm as she did so and scowled at the marks on her wrist. Without warning, gold light coalesced under SYn's hand, snaking up Jo's arm. It was hot, and vaguely uncomfortable, but when it faded the chafe marks and bruises were healed. Even the slight tingling itch of the rug burn on her back was faded.   "Thank you," she said when Syn released her.

"Any time."

Jo studied the photo, sinking into the chair Steve had pulled out for her. "How much time do we have before we think they're going to attack? I mean, with the Merchant gone do they have much of a command structure?"

"They have a General of some sort," Loki said. "That's who the Merchant was going to give you to as a gift."

She made a face. "Can't wait to meet him."

Charlie came in from the little attached parlor that he had completely covered with papers he'd brought over from Shield. He had one in particular covered in scientific notations and drawings. "Dad," he said, sounding very urgent, causing Stark to look up from the conversation he was having with Natasha. He held the paper out. "Look at that. Tell me that's not what I think it is."

Stark put on his reading glasses and peered at the paper. He looked back up at his son. "That's silicon," he said. "Why?"

"It's what the Merchant wanted from earth."

That prompted Dr. Banner to get up out of his chair and go over to look at the paper. Syn and Loki went over there, too. They also looked at it, and also sighed angrily.

Steve leaned over to Jo. "The science types seem concerned about this." Not that it was all that it was all that unusual for him to have no idea what the lot of them were talking about. When he was young being able to read, write, and do simple math made you an educated man.

"What's silicon, and why did he want it?"

"It's not—" Stark waved the paper at her. "It's the second most common element in the earth. It's everywhere, and has very little use." He put it down on the table. "It's like he wanted fucking salt water. He could have bought it. Bought land and dug it up, or just taken it. We're about to fight a war for _no reason_."

"Hell, if he'd dug up the land he bought in the mountains he probably would have had more then enough for whatever he wanted it for." That was Banner. Nat put a calming hand on his arm and Syn conjured what appeared to be a cup of tea for him.

"It's a moot point now," Loki said. "The Badoon don't care about the silicon. And they aren't exactly known for reasonable negotiation."

Steve leaned on the table, looking at the photos. "They've got to have a million soldiers up there."

"But they are hampered," Thor said. "That will help us."

"Hampered how?"

"This realm is highly inaccessible from space. If you come, you come by portal. Unless you come by a very stable and sophisticated portal, like the Bifrost, it will fry nearly all advanced weaponry. Even the Bifrost is limited." He held up his hammer. "If you've ever wondered why I have this and not something more sophisticated. My people can make them, it's just very hard to take anything anywhere. So we fight with swords."

"It's also why the machines that attacked London twenty years ago were firing regular bullets," Loki added. Steve decided he _really_ did not want to know what sort of 'non-regular' bullets they might be talking about. "So yes, they are mostly going to be fighting with more limited weaponry. For them. Which may not be saying much."

"It's something," Steve said, rubbing his eyes. 

"Perhaps the very nature of your people will help, too." Thor said.

Steve looked up at the ceiling. They loved to discuss how primitive and/or backward humanity was. Jo wasn't sure this was really the right time for that.

"That's true," Syn said thoughtfully. "None of the other realms operate quite like Earth."

"What do you mean?" Natasha asked.

"Well, if you attack Asgard, you fight the Asgardian army. If you attack Alfheim you face the Alfan guard. It's a limited amount of people and limited land to fight it on. Asgard is scarcely larger than the North American continent. Here you have armies and countries everywhere, all with weapons, all willing to fight. I imagine if it gets bad enough ordinary citizens would pick up arms and fight." She looked at the other Asgardians. "It's really quite inspiring."

"Well," Steve said. "We've been trying to kill each other for thousands of years."

"That was my point," Thor said. "You have far more practice than anyone else they've conquered. You may not be able to stop them, but you will make them bleed greatly for every bit of ground they take."

" _We_." Loki said. "I know you do not consider this your home, but I consider it mine."

Behind him, Jo noticed Syn grin widely, even as Thor looked a little sad at the pronouncement. She looked down at the photo in her hand. "Can we attack them first?" Heads turned to look at her and she faltered a little. "It's just. . . if they don't expect resistance, maybe we can surprise them. We have two sorcerers and a guy who controls the weather. Can't we fly over the army base and drown them in a flood or drop rocks on them?"

Nat tilted her head. "That's not a bad idea." She went around the table, collecting select photos into her folder. "I do not want to alert them to the fact that we know they're there until we have ground armies mobilizing. Lest they pour out into the countryside before we can stop them." She looked up at Thor. "But I do think the Carpathian Mountains are about to have the worst winter since the last ice age." 

He grinned, the expressions spreading slowly over his face. "Hailstones the size of their heads, I imagine."

Loki looked over at his wife. "You know, I think they're going to have an atrocious string of bad luck in general."

She nodded sagely. "Broken wheels, leaking tents. Terrible for morale."

The door opened and Anja stuck her head in. "It's 1:15."

Her mother nodded in acknowledgement. "Right, thank you." Nat tucked the folder under her arm. "Loki? Shall we?"

"Where are you going?" Steve asked.

"Hopefully, to get us the Russian Army." She put her hand on Loki's arm, and they vanished in a flash of green.

"Mmm, that's my cue to start for the Palace," Syn said. "Stark, do you want to meet King George?"

"You know King George?" Jo asked.

The other woman smiled brightly. "Yes. I met Victoria during the last alien invasion, we kept in touch. Someone needs to update him on current events and I volunteered."

"I would be happy to accompany you," Stark said. "Does he know Natasha tried to assassinate him once?"

"No. Please pretend you don't know that, either."

"I've already forgotten."

"Wonderful." She looked at the rest of them. "I think the rest of you are free to do as you wish until we have answers from the other countries. Try not to stray too far out of contact."

"I'll take another trip to the mountains," Thor said. "Start winter properly for them."

Steve came over to sit beside Jo. He leaned over to whisper, "Come back upstairs?"

She looked over at him and feigned horror. "In the middle of the afternoon?"

"Technically it's early afternoon."

She kissed him, getting to her feet. "You've convinced me," she murmured.

"It's going to be ugly soon. We might as well enjoy what we can."

He stood and she tucked herself into his side as they walked to the door.

* * *

**End Part Two**


	19. The Madness of Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Part the Third and Final**
> 
>  
> 
> _In Flanders fields the poppies blow_   
> _Between the crosses, row on row,_   
> _That mark our place; and in the sky_   
> _The larks, still bravely singing, fly_   
> _Scarce heard amid the guns below._
> 
> _We are the Dead. Short days ago_   
> _We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,_   
> _Loved and were loved, and now we lie,_   
> _In Flanders fields._
> 
> _Take up our quarrel with the foe:_  
>  _To you from failing hands we throw_  
>  _The torch; be yours to hold it high._  
>  _If ye break faith with us who die_  
>  _We shall not sleep, though poppies grow_  
>  _In Flanders fields._  
>  \- John McCrae 1919

The Badoon had dug into the mountains. The Allied armies ringed them and dug in. Thirty-six countries had sent troops by this point—overwhelming, astonishing numbers of men. But it was very much like a medieval siege of a walled city. No one got out; no one went in either. A vast, devastated no-man's-land opened up between them. Both sides had shelled each other for months, with no end in sight. 

In some places, soldiers in the Iron Man suits that Stark had a factory in Germany cranking out by the hundreds got across the chasm. Far enough to do damage, but not far enough to return. Airships were blown out of the sky, and their caves and entrenchments got them out of the weather. The only people who could get up there were the Asgardians, and it was like bailing out the ocean with a bucket.

At the moment, Steve was sitting in the command room in the American trench network, listening to two generals argue with each other. 

Clanking beside him indicated one of the Starks had come into the room. He looked over to see Charlie standing in the doorway. Steve got up to to go him. "Hey."

"Have you seen Loki?"

He shook his head. "I think he's making his rounds." They had a massive fighting force, but secure communication was difficult and travel even harder over the distance. Most message went by radio code, but important ones, and important people, were taken by Loki. He didn't seem to revel in his role as a courier, but they were all trapped and miserable anyway.

"This morning's assault failed," he said. "My—my older brother was among them. I was hoping to be taken to Germany to tell my father in person."

Steve looked down. "Jesus. I'm sorry Charlie."

Charlie shrugged and shook his head. "It is what it is," he said, in a voice that seemed far too old for him. For an instant, Steve thought of the mischievous and rambunctious little boy he'd met all those years ago and mourned for him.

"I can put out a code on the radio," Steve offered. "So whoever has him will send him in. Or contact Syn, she has some way of getting a hold of him when it's urgent." The healer was running a massive hospital a few clicks west of the lines, using a blend of Earth medicine, Alfan potions and her own magic to keep casualties as low as possible. Steve hadn't seen her in person in months, but knew Loki worried about her burning herself out.

Everyone, it seemed, he saw in fits and starts. They'd spread out, lending their help where they could to all the many battles being fought along the ring. Jo had even left for a few weeks in the spring, to spend some time fighting with the Scandinavian armies on the northern front. Thor was up there a lot, too. Nostalgia, he supposed.

Not that this resembled any war ever seen before. A bomb rattled their building, and he could see the flash of light from wherever it had hit. There had been a time he would have run out immediately, but even he had become weary. He just stood there and listened for screaming.

What he got, instead, was an Asgardian warrior stepping through his doorway. The woman one, it took him a moment to remember her name. Behind him, the two Generals were staring openly. "Give us a moment," Steve said, and they slunk out past Charlie without a word.

Lady Sif put a fist to her chest, bowing a salute. "Captain Rogers, Iron Boy," she said. "I was looking for the Ladies Natasha and Jorunn."

"I believe they are both in camp, so you're in luck."

"I knew they were here, I was asking you to take me to them."

Steve chuckled and shook his head. He touched Charlie's shoulder. "Go. Tell the radio guys I said you can make as many calls as you need."

Charlie nodded and headed out, walking slowly in his clanking armor. Sif watching him go and her face softened before looking back at Steve. "He has lost someone?"

He sighed. "Yes. His brother."

Her expression turned sympathetic. "It is never easy. He has my condolences, if you think of it, when next you speak." Speaking to the other Asgardians, Steve was occasionally amazed at how acclimated Thor, Loki and Syn were. Sometimes it was like the warriors were speaking a different language entirely.

He nodded and gestured to the tent flap. "Let's go find the ladies for you."

If you lived in trenches long enough, you built all sorts of things. One of the first was usually some sort of bar, which is where he found Nat and Jo, in a corner pouring over reconnaissance photographs. 

Jo smiled widely when she saw them coming, for him and for Sif too. She and the warrior woman got along quite well. He suspected Sif would have liked to take Jo back to Asgard with her, as company in the boys club. Jo half stood when he reached her and kissed him. "Hello, stranger."

He sat beside her. "Did you hear about George Stark?"

Her face fell and Nat took a long drink of her pint. "Yes. Anja told us. How's Charlie? She said he wouldn't talk to her."

"He was looking for Loki to take him to see his father."

Jo nodded and glanced at Sif. "What brings you here?"

"Thor mentioned to me you have virtually no intelligence about what is going on up there. With the Badoon."

"That's true," Nat said. "It's impenetrable up there. Anyone who gets close enough doesn't make it back. And any kind of air surveillance is shot down. We're working blinder than I've ever been."

"He also mentioned, on a separate occasion, that before the trenches were completely surrounding them, they would send out raiding parties to capture women."

"That's what they want," Jo piped up. "Women. It's what the Merchant promised them to get them here to attack us. Syn says that's pretty much their MO since their women don't speak to them anymore."

Sif nodded. "The Brotherhood and Sisterhood have been separate for a very long time. I believe Odin was in his infancy when the Gender Wars broke out on Badoon's mother world. Since then, the men have travelled the universe, seeking planets to capture women from."

"When I talked to government leaders about the coming war, I mentioned that often," Nat said. "With as much innuendo as humanly possibly. Only one actually required me to spell out 'Creatures coming from space to rape your wives'."

"They don't actually rape," Sif said. "Not species like ours, anyway. The anatomy is not. . . compatible. They look for servants and trophies. Pretty things to look at. Sometimes they fight them in cage matches. Hunt for sport. It's subjugation and disgusting, but not actually sexual."

"I can't decide if that makes me feel better or not," Jo muttered.

"Well, it will make my like of thinking sound less like madness," Sif replied.

"You think we should go up there," Nat said. "Just women."

The warrior nodded. "They will not be shot on sight, as men would. More importantly, they will not be seen as important. As Syn will attest, a great deal of sensitive information is spoken in front of servants."

"I do remember that," Nat said. "From my days as a spy. I'm onboard. We'll never convince the brass, though. This will have to be off the books."

"Hardly the first time we've done that," Jo said. "I think I've met most of the women in the nearby camps. I can ask around for volunteers."

"I would be happy to volunteer," Sif said. "considering it was my idea."

Steve was not crazy about this idea. He understood it's utility, and he knew why Jo would need to be part of the team. But he didn't like it. "Doesn't sound like I'm needed for this conversation," he said, standing up. "I'm going go see if Charlie's had any luck finding Loki."

Jo glanced at him and he could see she was worried about him. Still, she didn't try to stop him. "I'll talk to you later, " she said, voice quiet.

He didn't see her again until that night, when he crawled into their sleeping area. Senior officers like them got some measure of privacy, but it was still mostly a concrete lined cave dug in the earth with a pallet, and a curtain. They were all packed in like sardines, so the whole camp got to listen to the argument the Bartons were having several rows down. You couldn't quite make out the words, but they were clearly angry.

"I have known that man twenty years, and I had no idea he could raise his voice," Steve commented as he pulled the curtain closed.

Jo was brushing her hair out, preparing to braid it to sleep. "Anja volunteered for the expedition to the Badoon camp."

He winced, sitting on their pallet. "I'm surprised Nat's all right with that."

"Oh. I don't think she is," Jo said. "You missed the earlier fight between the Barton women. It cleared the bar and for a moment I thought Anja might punch her mother. Eventually Anja convinced her that since Nat would be there to keep an eye on her, it would be all right. It doesn't sound like Clint agrees with this plan."

"I can hear that." He reached out to take the brush, so he could brush her hair for her. "But he lets her out in that foxhole he tunneled out in No Man's Land to shoot from?"

"I think it's a matter of comfort. He understands combat and sniping. Being in that kind of danger. Once she goes behind enemy lines then she's out of his sight. He can't rescue her." She sighed. "It must be terrible to watch your child go to war."

"It's terrible to watch anyone you love go to war."

She turned a little to look at him. "Are we about to have a loud conversation?"

He looked at her in surprise. "No. Why would we?"

"You weren't very happy the last time I went spying. And this seems even worse than that. You looked upset when you left the bar this afternoon."

"I'm not happy. I hate it."

"But you aren't going to try to convince me not to go?"

"No." He handed her the brush and turned her head so he could braid her hair. And also so he wouldn't have to make eye contact. Not happy was the understatement of the century. "I have no right to interfere in your decisions."

She sat deathly still, letting him work on her hair. When she finally spoke her voice was soft and and thick with unshed tears. "I think a lot about our island. Last summer. The quilt I never got to make and the room we never added. I miss it, the time we didn't have together. I miss my cat." Her voice broke on the last word. "If I can do something to end this a little sooner. To get us back there even one day faster. Then I just have to try."

Her sadness drained the anger out of him. He put his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. "I know."

She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand before covering his arms with hers. "If there was another way I'd do it in a second. I don't want to leave you."

He rocked her. "I know. I know."

After a moment, she turned in his arms, tucking herself against his chest. Her arms slid around him, holding him tightly. Neither of them spoke—there wasn't anything to say—and he couldn't hear the Bartons anymore. The only sound was their breathing in the cramped little cave.

"I love you," he whispered. "More than anything in the world." 

She rubbed his back, just a little stroke of her fingers. "I love you, too. Just as much."

"We'll get back there someday. I promise."

"I know." She sighed and pressed tighter into him. "Nat claims spy work is better with something to come home to."

*

It took a few days to get the details in place. They were transported up to the French lines on the western front, where they were closest to the Badoon lines. They were fairly certain any men who went up with them would be killed, so Loki and Syn created illusions of men to accompany them. If they put their magic together, the illusions were strong enough to withstand being shot at.

She and Steve had said their goodbyes back in the American camp. The Bartons had done the same. The last thing she saw before Loki transported them were Steve and Clint heading towards the bar. She hoped someone had some Asgardian liquor somewhere for Steve.

They were packing the wagons when Charlie landed beside her with a blast of wind. The flight-capable suits were enormous and deafeningly loud, and she knew he despised wearing them. "I caught you," he proclaimed. He opened various compartments on his suit, until he pulled out a pair of leather gauntlets. They looked decorative, but were clearly lined with metal. She imagined uru. "We finished them. Dad and I. We needed something to—because—" he cleared his throat. "I'm really glad I caught you."

She smiled softly, taking the gauntlets from him. "Thank you, Charlie," she said. "I'll put them to good use." She slid the gloves on and flexed her fingers, impressed with the range of movement. "They're just perfect. Better than I could have hoped for."

"I hope you kick some ass up there. Ma'am."

"I promise," she told him.

Anja came up from behind Charlie, having been busy by the wagons. "Mom says we're ready to go," she said, sounding tired. She was talking to Jo, but looking at Charlie. "That suit makes you look fat," she told him, the ghost of a smile on her face.

"I got dressed in a hurry," he replied. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm going with them," she said, like that would be obvious.

His face changed. "Are you nuts?"

She sighed extravagantly, like only an annoyed teenager could. "Oh, don't you start. I've already had this fight with Mom and twice with Daddy. Don't- don't start."

Charlie looked uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Anja had looked away, so she missed the expression on his face. It was an odd mix of fear and grief. Jo had the strongest urge to hug him, despite the armor.

Anja rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, still not looking at him. "I'm sorry about George," she said, all the exasperation and anger gone from her tone. "I didn't get to tell you before." She glanced at him. "I'll see you when we get back."

"Look, I didn't mean to—" he sighed harshly. "Try not to die, all right?"

Jo winced, but Anja just gave that faint smile again. "You too." She shifted, like she'd had the same thought about hugging him. Then she just reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. 

"Without you aiming arrows at the back of my head, it'll be like paradise." There was no venom and barely any sarcasm in his voice. 

She sniffled a little. "Well, if you weren't such a jackass maybe you could find someone else to watch your back." It was said like the sweetest endearment. Jo suddenly felt she was intruding on some sort of courtship ritual, but damned if she could make sense of it.

They seemed to notice, then, that they were still holding hands, and dropped them. "Nobody but you would put up with me, Barton."

"And don't you forget it." 

Jo saw Nat watching them from her place near the wagons and decided to let the pair say the rest of their goodbyes in private. She walked past, not even earning a glance from Charlie of Anja, and joined Nat. "I'm still not certain if they hate each other or are conducting a secret affair under all of our noses."

"Clint and I met when he came to assassinate me," Nat replied. She shrugged. "On the other hand, I gave her a diaphragm about 18 months ago and she reacted like I'd implied she was murdering babies."

"I know your adolescence wasn't particularly normal. But I recall the line between boys being gross and wanting to see them naked was very fine and _very_ abrupt."

The other woman sighed. "We should get going."

Nat called for them to get rolling. Jo watched Anja and Charlie say their final goodbyes and Charlie took off. The expression on Anja's face was quite similar to the one Charlie had had when he found out she was going. Fear and grief. Jo did hug her when she joined her at the wagons, tucking the girl against her shoulder. "I'm sure Steve and your dad will get him something to drink."

Anja snorted a little laugh and nodded, giving her a squeeze as they parted and started to walk.

They climbed into the wagon, festooned with white flags of truce. This was perhaps the most dangerous part, as the wagon moved into No Man's Land. Anja squinted towards the camp. "This feels so wrong without a bow in my hands."

"We're going there to spy, not fight," Nat said. 

Sif patted Anja's arm. "Perhaps we will get to do both."

"That's my goal," Jo said brightly, flexing her fingers in her gauntlets.

They crossed the center line without any incident. Anja had the best eyes and told them when she saw a group coming to meet them.

The illusion-man driving the wagon called to the approaching Badoon. It was Loki's voice, amusingly incongruous coming out of someone clearly created to look as flabby and unthreatening as possible. As predicted, the Badoon shot him before he could even finish explaining that the women were a peace offering.

They'd discussed who would be the spokeswoman earlier and decided Nat, ironically, looked the least threatening. She stood slowly, arms up in surrender. "We're unarmed. We have been sent as an offering."

The patrol approached. Jo had seen them up close before, but in the haze of a fight it was different. Now they were moving slowly, in all their lizard-y glory. When they reached the back of the wagon, the one clearly in charge approached them. He looked at each of them. "Your people are foolish," he said. "But we will have use for you."

Nat's jaw tightened a little, but she kept up her charade. "There was hope you would negotiate. After a sign of good faith."

"We don't negotiate. Get out of the cart."

Nat looked down at the other women and nodded. The Badoon unhooked the end of the cart and waited for them to climb out, not even trying to help. Jo made sure she was one of the first off so she could help some of the smaller women. She watched the alien guards out of the corner of her eyes as she did.

They were marched up into the mountains, and taken into caves. The caves opened up into a massive underground city. It made their trench systems look like stone age huts. "This is worse than I thought," she heard Sif whisper behind her.

Jo nodded, seeing the same thought cross Nat's face. They had hoped the alien numbers would be dwindling, hurt by the unfamiliar terrain and bad weather. But this didn't look like they had made a dent in their numbers. It was hard not to feel utterly discouraged. "Eyes open, ladies," she muttered.

They were tossed in a holding room of some sort—or so Jo thought. It would turn out to be where they lived. A Badoon soldier would come in the morning and bring them out to be distributed. At night, they would be returned to sleep there, together.

It was quickly apparent they were handed out as rewards for good behavior. The work was mostly cleaning and serving, though it occasionally took a turn for the odd. There was a group that wanted Nat to sing them lullabies. They quickly identified Jo and Sif as the strongest among them, and took to staging recreational fights. They put Anja in indecently skimpy clothing and would simply display her places. It upset Nat, but the girl didn't seem to care.

Every night, though, they were brought back to their cell and locked in. Because they were simply stupid human females, and couldn't possibly be up to anything.

The moment the bolt slid through the door, they unrolled their largest project. On a pilfered sheet, they were stitching a map of the compound, adding each new room and cavern as one of them saw it, using thread and pieces of fabric from their clothes and wherever else they could steal it. 

A set of simple-minded women sewing a quilt was the most harmless thing in the world.

"They need to give us better soap," Sif complained. She and Jo were scrubbing off the slimy substance they'd sprayed them with today. She wasn't sure its purpose, but it had made the fight like wresting a greased pig. And they outfit they put her in was worse than Art and his skirt and lederhosen. That seemed like decades ago, now.

"Anja's not back yet," Nat said, anger hiding the worried mother.

Jo looked up from her scrubbing. "The commander said something about having a meeting. Maybe she's standing in the corner looking pretty for them."

Nat scowled, but some of the stress seemed to ease from her shoulders. "I swear, if they don't give her a longer skirt I am going to start punching them on Clint's behalf."

"One of them told me they enjoy the human form," Sif said. "I'm a bit jealous they let you wear more clothing than the rest of us."

That got her a ghost of a smile. "I must register as motherly to them. Or it's the stretch marks."

"That might explain the lullabies."

The door was yanked open and Anja came in, wearing an outfit that would have gotten her thrown off any beach in the States. She glanced behind her as the door closed, listening for the bolt to slide. Then she looked at the others. "We have a problem."

Nat stood up. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Though I did learn they find our breasts repulsive, and our body hair fascinating." She went over to the map and pointed to one of the unfinished edges. "The apparent spectacle of the color of mine got me put on display on a factory floor they have down that hallway."

Since Nat was busy looking homicidally nauseous, Jo stepped over to look at what Anja was pointing at. "What did you see?"

"Amphibious tanks," she answered, looking up. "They're planning to get to the Black Sea. From there the Mediterranean will be no problem. Then we've lost."

"We haven't lost," Nat finally said. "But it would get much, much uglier."

"They left me unsupervised for a bit," Anja said. "So now they'll be experiencing some confusing mechanical failures on their equipment. But that's just a stalling tactic."

Sif laughed. "You sabotaged their equipment?"

"How do you know how to sabotage alien machinery?" Nat asked, sounding mystified but proud.

"I know the rest of you let your eyes glaze over, but I actually listen when Charlie talks. And taking apart is a lot easier then building from scratch."

"We need to make this known among our warriors," Sif said.

Jo looked over at Nat. "This might be worth calling Loki for."

She nodded, then looked at her daughter. "How finished were they? The tanks? Any idea when they'll be able to deploy?"

"Not immediately, but a lot of them looked close."

"Logic says while the weather's warm," Jo added. "No later than fall." 

"They’re going to react when they find us gone," Nat said, pacing the length of the cell. "But we need to get planning for this. The more time we have, the better." She looked around the group. "Unless anyone has a better idea, I think it's time to snap the string."

"They are really fond of me," Anja said. "I might be able to more information."

"I'm not sure it's worth hesitating for hypothetical more information."

"We could call him and just pass the message on," Jo offered.

"I think we should not be here when the sabotage is discovered," Sif said. She looked at Anja. "And I don't think any of us like what you are doing to get your information."

The girl scowled. Before she could respond Nat spoke. "All in favor of calling Loki?" Everyone except Anja lifted a hand. Nat nodded and gave her daughter a sympathetic look. "You did very well, honey. But part of the game is knowing when to fold." She bent and reached into her boot. With a jerk of her arm, she snapped the little thread she had tied around her ankle.

For a long moment they all stood there in silence, and then there was a flash of green, and Loki appeared. "Hello, Ladies. Someone call for a lift?"

* * *

To be continued in our next installment _The Prodigal Son Does his Best_


	20. The Prodigal Son Does His Best

Taking the women back to camp had been trivial. Loki had almost been trampled in the rush of men coming to welcome them home. He had waited in the main tent for the hugging to finish, then Natasha, Jo and Sif had given their report. News of the tanks and the sheer number of Badoon still left was disheartening.

Talk had turned to plans and odds and potential contingency plans. All with a vague air of doom. Loki had learned enough about Earth geography to know that once on the water the Badoon would have the advantage. What had been essentially a stalemate would become a proper war. The casualties would be astronomic.

He left while they were still chatting, unable to be of much use. He had been toying with a rather desperate idea, even before the women have gone off to spy. Now, he was fairly sure it was his only option.

He looked up at the sky, stars beginning to peak out of the darkening dusk. He could take himself there with a thought, but perhaps it was best to do it the proper way "Heimdall?" he said, addressing the western sky. "I seek an audience with Odin Allfather." He waited for a few heartbeats, then added, "Please."

The light of the Bifrost shot down from the sky and a moment later he was standing in the gate room, Heimdall studying him with interest. "You are forbidden to enter Asgard."

"I know. But as his majesty is not likely to come see me down there, I thought perhaps an exception could be made."

"I have been watching Midgard," Heimdall said. "You and your brother should consider having Lady Jane and the babies brought up to Asgard."

Loki couldn't deny the wisdom in that. Still he said, "If Odin would like to meet Hela, first he must speak to me."

The gatekeeper seemed to consider that a moment. Then he nodded slowly. "I believe you know the way."

"I'm sure it will come back to me," he murmured, heading towards the bridge that lead to the palace.

Odin was in his throne room. It was the first place Loki went, perhaps because he knew that's where Odin would go once he was told Loki was on Asgard. They had a certain predictable dynamic to them. 

"I cannot say I expected to see you here," Odin boomed as soon as he was in sight.

Honestly, the man _had_ an indoor voice, Loki had heard it. "I know Thor has come to beg your aid. His pleas appear to have fallen on deaf ears." He stopped at the base of the dais. "I thought, perhaps, a show of humility from your wayward foundling might sway you."

Odin studied him. "Midgard must solve its own problems. I cannot interfere."

"You interfered when the frost giants attacked, centuries ago."

"That was a different time. Mankind had no hope of beating back such an attack."

Loki crossed his arms. "They have very little hope of it now. Badoon numbers are far greater than anticipated. And now they have a plan for escaping their mountain strong hold. They are weeks away from reaching an ocean. From there the world will be theirs."

"There are, I think, almost two billion humans. Superior numbers will eventually prevail."

"At what cost? Do you consider it a victory to lose half your force? To lay waste to the land you hope to live on. Earth might be able to win, but what will be left at the end will no longer be Earth." He gestured behind him, as if pointing at the planet itself. "You sent me down there to learn a lesson of some sort. Humility, selflessness, something along those lines. Well, here I am. The realm I've come to care for, to consider a _home_ is in danger. You have the power to turn the tide. If you ever cared for me as more then a trophy. If I was ever truly your son, you'd help us." He paused, took a deep breath in an effort to calm his tone and added, as sincerely as he was capable. "Please."

"I sent you down there as punishment," he said after a moment.

Loki stared at him. "Well. Congratulations. It's about to become far more unpleasant."

He looked away, staring at something apparently fascinating on the wall for so long Loki wondered if he'd been dismissed. "You let an army of Frost Giants into Asgard, Loki. Asgardian soldiers died that day. Asgardian soldiers were wounded. And now you want me to ask those men to come fight for your cause?"

"You have sent them on less worthy causes. The subjugation of an entire realm. Seems the sort of thing the great Allfather would frown upon." He paused, weighed his options, then added, "And it was hardly an entire army."

Odin looked at him. "I will continue to monitor the situation on Midgard. I have not ruled out the possibility of becoming involved if it is required. Right now, it is not."

Well, it wasn't a no. It was almost a no, but not quite one. The man did like to hedge his bets. So, as much as it galled him, Loki gave a slight bow. "Thank you for your time."

He'd crossed the throne room before Odin called out, "Loki."

He paused and half turned, arching a brow in question.

In a nearly uncharacteristic moment of apparent perception, he said, "You say you wish to make peace with me. Have you made peace with yourself?"

His initial instinct was to snap at him. He had no business questioning his mental state. That was for Syn, and occasionally Thor and a bottle of good liquor. Still, he swallowed the harsh reply and tried to answer honestly. "I've a wife. A child. Friends who accept me, darkness and all. Trust, from people I likely don't deserve it from. I'm thinking of getting a cat. I am. . . happy in my own skin for possibly the first time in my life. I seek peace with you not for my sake but so Hela might know her grandparents. Your approval is not required for my peace."

Silence stretched, and this time neither of them looked away. "I will give your request consideration."

"I ask for nothing more." He sketched another bow and turned to leave. This time, Odin did not stop him.

When Heimdall returned him to the camp, they were all standing there in a row, his friends, waiting for him. Considering he had failed, it ought to be intimidating, or at least embarrassing, but it did not feel that way at all. Whatever was on his face cased Syn to come forward and put her arms around him. When he looked over her shoulder at the rest, Clint, Steve, and whichever Stark was in the Iron Man suit held out flasks in virtual unison.

He couldn't help but smile a little. He kissed Syn's temple, then reached for the nearest flask, which happened to be Steve's. Hopefully, it had proper liquor in it. "I did what I could," he said, not sure if he was telling them or himself.

Thor came forward. "I don't understand," he said, sounding profoundly sad. "He's just going to let this happen."

"He claims Midgard must solve its own problems." Oh, good, it was Asgardian liquor. He took a second swig before handing it back. "Seems to think we're going to win with superior numbers. There's two billion humans, you know. We're apparently to throw all of them at the Badoon and let math do its thing."

"It will be very helpful when they get to China," Steve said.

Thor still looked grieved. Loki felt a faint pang for him. He, at least, had already given Odin up as heartless. "You may want to speak with Jane about going to Asgard with the children," he said gently. He glanced at Syn. "I don't suppose I could convince you to go?"

She wound her arms through his and rested her head on his shoulder. "Not when I'm needed here."

"Perhaps when you send Jane up we can pass along a count of how many of those two billion are children," Nat said.

"I doubt it would sway him. But Jane will have Mother's ear, and that may do the trick. There's no telling, though. Once he's made his proclamation he's loathe to go back on it. There's a reason I'm still down here."

"It's something," Thor replied. He put his hand on Loki's shoulder. "In the meantime, we have a battle to plan."

*

Life in the trenches got busier. Once the women had disappeared, the Badoon clearly understood they'd been spied on. Attacks became more intense, the bombing more frequent. Shells boomed around the clock now.

On the other hand, the map of the compound was now hanging prominently in the command center. They had been sending targeted barrages now, including Loki transporting incendiary packages into random locations. Thor shorted out their electrical systems with lighting and the artillery was silent for a whole week. 

All the while, battlements were being built between the front and the Black Sea. They would bleed for every inch of ground they got closer to the coast.

One day, after a particularly vigorous round of bombing, Steve walked into the command center and found Jo studying the map. She glanced over at him when he came in. "I was just thinking, we might get to run a Navy before this is all over."

"I do believe every gunship on the planet is sailing in our direction right now." He came to stand next to her. "Thor told me they are evacuating the entire city of Istanbul. They'll likely try to come through the Bosphorus Straight, so primary fallback will be set up there, for after the Badoon reach the sea."

She sighed. "It depresses me we've moved to saying when, not if. I knew it was a slim chance but. . . I liked the hope."

He touched the map. "You finally made a quilt."

"It wasn't entirely the one I had planned. Useful, though."

He slid an arm around her shoulder. "If you hadn't gone up there, we would have no chance at all. _None._ "

With another sigh, she leaned into him, giving him some of her weight. "I know. And I'm proud of what we did. I'm just tired and discouraged. I can't shake it."

"Someday it will end. And then we will find somewhere to be."

She half turned, wrapping her arms around his waist and looking up at him. "Our island," she said. "I want to talk about it again. To plan. Somewhere along the way we stopped talking about after. I think I need to. I need the hope."

"The scale of our lives makes you uncomfortable. So I try not to. . ." He shrugged. "I always think about the after. It's what I fight for. Not for glory, but for the peace that follows." The last war he'd been in, a full century ago now, he'd thought every day about the little house he pictured in his head. The wife and children he wanted. And that was before he knew how long he'd live. "But odds are high we'll survive past this no matter how long it takes. And then we can hide, if we need to."

"It doesn't make me as uncomfortable as it used to," she admitted. "I consider Loki and the others friends. I think if the worst comes of it he'll take use somewhere else. If not Asgard then Syn's home. Somewhere where everyone has a long life. Leaving Earth makes me sad. But the thought of starting a life with you, of carving out a bit of land just for us. That makes me happy." She kissed him lightly. "I don't know what I'm fighting for. Maybe for peace. Or freedom. Or just because Earth is my home and I want to protect it. But sometimes the fight just seems endless."

She shook her head. "I don't know what I'm trying to say. Maybe just that Nat was right, having something to come back to makes it easier. I want to have a goal. Some sort of mental image of what lies beyond the guns and bombs and blood."

Steve smiled, and idea coming to him. "Stay here. I have just the thing." When she nodded, he turned and went back to their dugout. He pulled out the metal box he used to keep his notebook dry, took the notebook out, and brought it back to the Jo. He sat on the table's bench and flipped through, looking for the sketches he'd made of the house in Nantucket—of how he hoped it would look some day.

He flipped past a few sketches he'd done of her while they were on the island and she stopped his flipping so she could look at them. He saw the heat rise in her cheeks, but she didn't say anything, just let him keep turning pages until he found the one he wanted.

"I thought we'd put a real kitchen here," he told her, showing her the drawing. "The bedroom upstairs for winter, and a sleeping porch for summer." He turned the page. "My properly acquired an inlet sometime in the last hundred years, which I believe is calm enough to have a real dock. So we can get a better fishing boat." He turned the page to the detailed plans of the boat itself. "I was thinking we could build it ourselves, eventually." 

"You'll have to show me how. I've never been a ship builder." She tapped a part of the drawing, to the left of the house. "The soil was very sandy, but I think I could still get somethings to grow. If not, we could build beds and bring good earth over from the mainland. Some hearty herbs. Maybe some beans. Berry bushes grow like weeds usually." Her smiled was teasing. "Spice up the fish and canned goods."

"I'm very bad at growing things. My stepfather said I had a black thumb. So I leave that to you."

"I could grow things in Norway, I can grow them in Nantucket. My pinks and anemones were the envy of Mats's neighbors in Baden." There was a solemn pride in her voice he found incredibly endearing.

"I see I'm going to have to get some colored pencils to properly envision this." He gave her a sideways glance. "Those are flowers, right?"

She laughed. "Yes. The grow wild in Norway. Very hearty. They go dormant in the snow but always pop up again when the spring thaw comes. We can go get some cuttings when we're ready to start the garden. They won't be hard to find."

He could picture it if he closed his eyes. Tiny little flowers emerging among the last patches of melting snow. There was nothing quite like spring. "Thank you," he said softly.

Her brow furrowed in a line of confusion. "You're welcome. For what?"

"I think I needed this line of thinking as much as you."

She smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder, weaving her fingers through his. "Our future. Ships and cabins and flowers. And quilts."

He kissed the top of her head. "Someday. I promise."

After a moment of companionable silence she asked, "Do you want kids?"

The question surprised him. She really did feel better about planning for the future. "I always have. What I don't know is if I _can_."

"I talked to Syn about it. Before we went to the island. Mostly I was just curious, since I knew Thor and Jane had one and figured we'd be having a lot of sex. She said the stone had never been used on a man, but she didn't think it should affect, you know, _that_. She'd have to do her magic light thing on you to be certain. But basically there was no way to predict or prevent it. Since Asgardians are so long lived their fertile times are few and far between and short of constant monitoring there's no real way to know when it's coming. And since babies are so rare they don't have actual contraceptives, though if I was really worried a diaphragm would probably do the trick." She hadn't moved her head from his shoulder, like she was afraid to look at him. "I grew up thinking there were no other options. I'd get married, have a baby and probably die in the attempt, like my mother. I was so happy when the blood stopped after I touched the stone. Syn says she's never seen an Asgardian or Alfan die in childbirth, so at least I don't have to worry about that anymore."

He rubbed her back. "Years ago, I asked Thor about. In the context of how worried I should be about accidentally leaving a sort-of half Asgardian bastard somewhere. He told me it was 'almost entirely impossible' to get someone pregnant. I left it at that." He reached up to tuck some hair behind her ear. "He may have just meant regular women. And regular you are most certainly not."

She chuckled a little. "I'm not the most maternal woman on the planet. And now would be a really bad time. But if it ever happened. . . I think I'd be happy about it."

"Me too. We can always build another room on the house."

"I can make little quilts." This with a little gesture, demonstrating the size. "You can make a crib."

If she did get pregnant, they _were_ getting married. He didn't know what the Asgardian custom was, but had his limits. He didn't think now was a good time to mention that, though. "We're not going to try and prevent." he asked. There was only the tiniest hint of a question in his voice.

"No," she said softly. "I think I'll look on it the way the Asgardians do. A rare gift. There was a woman in my village who had half a dozen children. I used to help her watch them when she was pregnant with the seventh. She told me there was never a good or bad time for a babe, they happened when they were meant to and not a moment before or after." She turned her head finally and kissed his cheek. "They'll be very blond."

"Like our own personal Viking army."

"New generation of sailors." She paused. "Not looking forward to 50 years of diapers."

"Fifty years? Really?"

"So they tell me. Magni is Anja's age and he's barely toddling. Hela's a few years younger and can only just sit up. Infancy takes a long time in Asgardians."

"Now you're just trying to make me feel better about the battle."

Jo laughed and slid her arms around him. "Exactly. It can always get worse."

* * *

To be continued in our next installment: _The Last Battle of The Great War_


	21. The Last Battle of The Great War

_September, 1915  
Danube Fortifications, Eastern Romania_

The Badoon pushed the lines slowly, grindingly, towards the coast. British and French troops to the west had tried to come at them from behind and invade the compound, but losses had been heavy. At least on the eastern front, they'd come out from their mountain and the allied troops could inflict casualties on them.

The war had turned from a bombed out stalemate into an actual fight. One that Jo was fairly certain they were slowly losing—but at least they could _fight_.

As Odin had put so coldly, Earth did have a whole lot of people. And it seemed that people from every corner had come to fight with them. From India, from China, from all over Africa and the Middle East. The Avengers visited different units for coordination and training purposes. After a surprise skirmish with a group from a country called Japan—which Jo had only vaguely heard of—someone gave her a gift of a magnificent sword that was so sharp she accidentally cut herself. 

She got to meet Kayembe, the other man who'd survived the Bride Stone, leaning his own army of dark-skinned men equipped with astonishingly powerful weapons. He was so happy to meet her that she had one of those brief moments where she forgot they were at war, and in constant mortal danger. 

"I have a gift for you," he told her. "Well, it was for the Captain, but among my people gifts are presented to the woman of the house." He shouted over his shoulder, and a man came running over with a bottle. "It is drink. Spirits." He presented it to her grandly.

She took it with as much reverence as she could manage. It was probably rude to ask if it would actually work to get her drunk. She tucked the bottle against her chest and smiled. "Thank you very much."

"It will warm you," he told her. "Both of you. I put a _great_ deal of effort into distilling some that would."

Well, that answered that question. "Thank you," she repeated, grinning. "I wish I had something for you."

There was a flash of green, and Loki appeared behind Kayembe. They all wore bracelets now, so he could find them wherever they might be on the massive front. "Hello. Convenient. I need you to come back." He looked up at Kayembe. "Hello. Probably you too, would be wise."

"Your highness," Kayembe said. "I'm happy to see the Captain chose not to kill you after all."

Steve chuckled and covered it with a cough. "What's happening?"

"The tanks are moving. We think there's a major assault coming." Loki looked back at Kayembe. "Please organize your troops in groups of fifty. I'll be back to move you further south."

The tall man nodded and moved off, shouting in his native language to his men. Jo looked down at her liquor bottle sadly. Well, maybe they'd get a chance to drink it after the battle. Though judging from the look on Loki's face she didn't think it would be in celebration. She stepped closer to Steve so he could put an arm around her for Loki to transport them. 

He dropped them in the armory so they could get their gear. Jo ran the bottle to their tent, and came back to Steve strapping on the last of his guns. "You taking that crazy sword?" he asked her.

"Yes. Loki and Thor think I should name it."

"That's very Asgardian." He looked down at her. "You know, there's something impressive about all this. Ugly as it is. The Badoon managed to get this entire discordant world to do something in unison. A year ago, I'd have said that was impossible."

"It's a true world war," she said, strapping a rifle over her shoulder. The sword was already on her back and she tugged her leather gauntlets on. It was a little silly to use such things in war with such advanced technology, but she had always been a brawler at heart. And, despite the alien weapons and enemy, war still came down to ground battle. And she could do a lot of damage with fists and a blade. "If we do beat the Badoon back I think the political climate will be very different."

He sighed. "I sure as hell hope so."

They walked up the line, able to locate their team by the line of Iron Man suits glinting in the sunlight. There were more of them than usual— and they were all definitely the expensive, complicated suits worn by the Stark family and not the simpler suits of the Iron Brigade. Sure enough, the one on the end turned and lifted his faceplate to reveal Tony himself. 

"You were supposed to be in Germany," Steve said. He'd had another heart attack after his son died. Absolutely no one expected him to join them in combat.

You could barely see the other man's shrug in the suit. "Didn't you know? It's Tuesday."

Jo shook her head, feeling a sudden ache in her chest. She wondered if this was some sort of passive suicide. Go out in a blaze of glory in honor of his son. What would they tell Pepper? She stepped closer and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I owed you," she said in response to his startled face. "From the dungeon in London."

"That was also a Tuesday," he replied with his old charming grim. "And I've got to look out for that guy." He pointed, and she turned to see Dr. Banner standing behind her. The last time he'd let The Other One out, he'd been unconscious for four days afterwards. Since then, he'd been helping Syn run the rearward field hospitals. Was this old man with a death wish day?

"This is a last stand," Steve said from behind her, quiet realization in his voice.

"They shall come this far," Tony said. "And no further."

The ache deepened to a pit in Jo's stomach. Syn must be beside herself with the two of them there. She had been a wreck after Tony's heart attack and, from what Jo had seen, would only trust Banner as her triage. Jo glanced around, half expecting the healer to be there, protecting her boys.

This was going to be ugly, bloody. Loki had reappeared and was surveying the crowd with a hard, angry look. 

This far and no farther. Last stands made excellent stories. Thermopile. The Alamo. Never ended very well for the ones standing, though.  
 She looked over at Steve, saw his look of grief, dismay. She touched his arm. "Quilts, ships and flowers," she said softly. It had become her mantra recently. The thing that spurred her into battle. The idea that got her through to the other side.

You could hear, now, the roar of the approaching Badoon army. Thor took off. So did the Starks. The air filled with arrows and bullets and shells. She heard the rumbling growl of Banner transforming for what she expected would be the last time.

Steve gave her a little nod, swinging his shield up. She unsheathed her sword and together they plunged forward, into the fray. She cut down the first Badoon she saw, literally bisecting it. She stepped over its bleeding torso without a second look, and knocked a gun away before it could shoot her. She stabbed this one, in what passed for the alien's heart, then put a foot up to shove it off the blade. 

She was aware of Steve to her left, his guns firing. He had acquired an alien weapon when one of his handguns ran out and was now causing much more damage.

They moved through the Bandoon, who were remarkably poor at hand-to-hand combat. She passed Anja, who was fighting dressed in Charlie's uru-plated espionage suit. The whole left side of her face was covered in blood, and Jo decapitated the lizard she was fighting with extreme prejudice. "Hey thanks. Duck!"

Jo obeyed, and a Badoon tank—upside down—went flying over their heads. 

After it had crashed beyond them, Steve made his way closer. "One of the Iron Men got shot down back that way, I'm going to see if I can fight my way over." He mowed down three of them with his shield. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, and it was true. She was scared and worried and fighting the sense that this was ultimately hopeless. But she liked a battle. Liked the rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins. The sense of satisfaction of a foe defeated or a friend protected. "I've been thinking," she added, only half sure of what what was going to say.

He fired his gun. "You've been thinking _now_?"

"I do my best thinking while punching people," she replied, sending a foot soldier flying with a left hook. She really loved these gloves.

"Granted." He punched one of his own, like an act of solidarity. Slowly they pushed in the direction Steve was trying to go.

"I think we should get married," she said, bracing a hand on his back to help him stay upright. He's just deflected a rather large projectile with his shield.

"Thank you." He look down at her. "And. . .what?"

"You asked me to marry you a while back. I'd like to change my answer." She hesitated. "If the offer is still open."

He paused in his fighting to give her a grin. "Of course. Yes. I would still like to marry you."

She nodded. "Good." She ducked a rattle of automatic fire and turned to face the shooter only to find them with an arrow in the eye. She didn't bother to glance around for Anja, just kept on Steve's heels, pushing towards the fallen Iron Man.

Halfway there they ran into Loki, who was dragging said suit behind him. "Jo! Steve!" Jo ran through the one Badoon still between them. "It's Charlie," Loki said.

"I am _fine_ ," the man called from behind him. 

"Unless the shrapnel in your leg moves, in which case you'll bleed to death," Loki said back.

Steve reached out to take Charlie from him. "Thank you."

"We put locators in all the suits," he said with a grin that had no humor in it. "But I need to save my magic for when it's really needed." The three of them got him back where the fighting was lighter.

"How far back is Syn?" Jo asked.

Loki tilted his head, squinting into the distance. "She's on the move. She was behind the bunkers but she must be trying to find wounded." He lifted a fist and shot up a flare of green. After a pause he nodded. "She's heading here now."

"You don't have to stay," Charlie said through gritted teeth. "Get back to the fight."

"You are your father's son," Loki muttered.

"I've been up there," he replied. "You don't know bad it is." The fear in his voice sucked away the very tiny moment of happiness she and Steve had just had.

Thor landed beside them with such force he shook the ground. "Loki! Look up!"

He was looking at the twisted metal remnant wrapping Charlie's leg. "That was me, you idiot. I sent up a flare."

Thor shook his shoulder. "Look _up_."

Jo didn't know if Loki decided to follow that order, but she did. The sky had turned a mottled, swirling green, like the auroras she'd seen in the arctic.

"That's the Bifrost," Steve said, just as a roar of light slammed into the ground in the middle of the Badoon forces. 

It was hard to see for a moment. When the spots faded from her eyes she could see an army. A new army, not Badoon. It had to be Asgardian, they were all dressed like Thor and Sif. They cut through the Badoon forces like butter, spreading through the alien army like a swarm of locusts on crops.  
 "Holy shit," she whispered, gripping Steve's arm.

Loki was staring at the reinforcements in shock, mouth slightly open. Thor held his arms—and the hammer—over his head and hollered like he was at sporting event. Another blaze of light came, this one right beside them. An old man emerged from the light, in the same style armor and on horseback, wearing a winged helm with one eye covered with a metal patch. He smiled broadly, looking out at the battle. 

"It occurred to me anything both my sons agreed on was a worthy cause," he said to Loki.

Loki spluttered a moment. "Well, it took you long enough to decide."

"Do you think mustering an army of this size happens overnight?" He sounded more amused by Loki than insulted.

Syn came running over. She spared the new man—Jo figured it was safe to assume he was Odin—a glance, kissed Loki's cheek and kneeled next to Charlie.

"Thank you, Father," Thor said, his voice sounding a little choked.

Odin acknowledged that with a gracious nod, and then leaned over. "Loki, Syn, if one of you does not bring that baby up once this is over, I am going to end up sleeping in the throne room."

"I've always liked the Queen," Syn said conversationally, prying metal off of Charlie's leg. "It would be nice to have tea with her again."

"As you wish, dear heart," Loki said just as lightly. He looked at Odin and said, very softly, "Thank you."

Odin reached behind himself and pulled off a leather bag strapped to his saddle. "I did give him the hammer, you ought have this."

Loki took the bag and peered inside. He was silent a moment, then glanced down, "Charlie, is your radio working?"

"Far as I know." Some of the pain had gone out of his voice and he sounded more himself.

"Tell the others to bring our troops back. It's about to get very cold on the field."

Syn looked up sharply. Loki reached into the bag and let the leather fall away, revealing a cube with handles on either side, swirling with blue white light. As he held it, his skin began to turn an odd gray-blue.

"What the hell is that?" Jo asked.

"It's called the Casket of Eternal Winters," Loki said, looking at his skin in dismay. "Jotun weapon," he added with a glance at her. With a nod to Odin and Thor he flashed away.

"Did he just turn blue?" Charlie asked. 

Odin lifted a horn on his belt and blew into, a deafening, eerie sound. Jo covered her ears, and watched a wave of Asgarian helmets move as the entire army seemed to duck. From somewhere out in the battlefield, a great wall of ice rose and blasted through the Badoon rear lines, freezing soldiers, shattering tanks. Thor spun his hammer and took off.

Lightning split the sky, arcing to the ground to shatter the ice, impaling soldiers with shrapnel. Another wall of ice went up, taking out another section of the army and again the lighting came.

"They do make a good team," Odin said, pride obvious in his voice.

Jo looked up at him, then down at Syn, currently glowing with her gold light. "What's going on?"

"The casket is an ancient Jotun weapon," she said. "Amplifies their ice powers. Loki's powers are significant without it. With it. . . well, I'd say we just won the war." She lifted her hands off Charlie's leg and inspected her work. "Good as new." She helped him stand. "I'm going to find your father and Bruce."

Odin held down a hand. "Would you like a lift?"

She looked at the hand skeptically. Jo only knew bits and pieces of her history with Odin, enough to know she had more reason to dislike him than Loki. Still, Syn appeared to decide it was the day for burying hatchets, because she took his hand and let him haul her into the saddle behind him. She gave them a little wave as he took off at a gallop towards the returning troops.

Jo turned to Steve, who seemed to have gone entirely speechless. "Did we just win?"

He ducked his head, still clearly struggling for words, but finally managing to smile. "I. . .apparently." The Asgardian army had begun fighting again, but it was clear that the Badoons were no match for them, even without the ice storm now crawling its way back towards the base. "It'll take some time to get it all," he looked up at her, his eyes suspiciously damp looking. "But I think so. Do you still want to marry me?"

"Of course!" She touched his cheek. "Did you think I said it because I thought it wouldn't happen?"

"Just checking," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, aware that Charlie was still sitting there but trusting him to know enough to look elsewhere. She buried her fingers in Steve's hair and kissed him for all she was worth.

*

By nightfall, the panicked, retreating remnants of the Badoon army had been pushed all the way back to their mountain fortress. There they were walled in with ice and guarded by the Asgardian Army. Odin had offered to deal the removal of the rest of them from earth, since no one else had the capacity to deal with them.

Word was transmitted to all the armies on all the fronts. There were oceans of wounded to deal with, a devastated countryside and millions of refugees that had been displaced over the course of the war. Not to mention the sheer gargantuan task of demobilization.

But for tonight, they could sit beneath an evening sky free from shells. Nat called a meeting, perhaps just to get a headcount to see if they had lost anyone. Through some crazy miracle, they had not. So now Steve could sit and put his feet up, watching Clint pass out glasses of 80 year old scotch he claimed to have found in the rubble of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. 

Jo had gone to find her mystery liquor from Kayembe for her and Steve—and the Asgardians when they showed up. 

Syn was sitting next to him, healing a very nasty cut on the side of Anja's face. She'd refused to go down to triage, claiming there were surely 'real' injured people. She was also, clearly, her mother's daughter. 

"We have a glass for you when you're done," Steve told Syn. "And where is your husband?"

"Saying goodbye to his father, likely trading barbs with him and Thor, and waiting for his skin to return to normal." She leaned back and wiped her bloody hands off on a towel. "He's never used the casket for that long, the effects are lasting longer than usual."

"Aww, I was hoping to see the blue," Anja said. "Charlie said it was neat."

"It was," Charlie agreed.

Steve passed the glass to Syn. "He seemed very bothered by it."

She sipped the liquor and made an hilarious face, shuddering. "By the realms," she hissed. She shook her head and looked at him. "Jotun are. . . well, they're monsters. Boogeymen. Parents use them to threaten their children. Behave, eat your veggies or the frost giants will come to snatch you up. Asgardians have fought them for centuries. Odin all but decimated them a thousand years ago. When Loki found out he was one of them, had been lied to his entire life. . . Well, he didn't handle it well at all."

"Ah, yes. I'd heard that there was a poorly handled adoption at the root of the incident that got you both sent here. I did not know it was that bad."

"I did," Jo said, sipping her drink. "He told me when we were undercover at Shield. I didn't really understand what it meant till I saw the blue skin. Why does he look normal the rest of the time?"

"It's a kind of glamour, all but instinctive now. It's how I see him and I see through all normal glamour. In fact, if he'd get over his fears and come find me I'd probably help get rid of the blue."

"You should tell him that when human parents tell their children about the blue man with the magic ice, he will _not_ be the bad guy."

She laughed and smiled fondly. "Yes. He finally gets to be the hero." She turned her head slightly. "Here he comes, with Thor, I think."

The brothers appeared in the door of the tent. Loki looked normal at first glance, then Steve noticed he was fidgeting his hands, which were still dark gray. Deciding to ignore it, Steve held up two glasses of the liquor. "It's about time."

The others in the room all looked up, and a round of applause rose. Thor sketched a theatrical bow, then reached up and grabbed Loki by the neck so he would be forced to do the same.

Syn stood and went to them. She took Loki's hands as he straightened and went on tiptoe to kiss him. There was a shimmer of gold and the last of the gray disappeared. "The hero of the last battle," she murmured.

He looked embarrassed. "I thought we were having a meeting."

"We're drinking," Steve called. He stood with the glasses. "Tastes like shit, but apparently it'll get us drunk."

Loki looked over at Thor, taking his glass. "Liquor. That's what he forgot."

"He brought and army and a weapon for you, I think we can forgive it." Thor downed the drink in one gulp, then held it over his head. "Another!"

"Now he doesn't smash it," Tony said from somewhere to the right of Jo.

"I have apologized _and_ purchased you new crystal tumblers," Thor replied. "Twice."

"The original ones belonged to my grandfather."

Steve laughed, and slid his arm around Jo. "Now it's even starting to sound normal around here." He caught motion in the the doorway and smiled, leaning closer. "I hope you're not about to punch me for this."

She looked at him, startled. "What are you about to do?"

He straighten a little and waved the man on. He was as beat up and dirty as the rest of them—it had been a day—but his collar still identified him as a chaplain. "I'm about to ask you to marry me. Right now."

She stared at him. "Wh—” She looked at the chaplain, then at the rest of them. When she looked back at him she was fighting a smile. "What if I wanted a big puffy white dress? Flowers? Formal cocktail hour?"

Steve looked back over his shoulder. "Syn? Loki?"

They exchanged a look, then whispered a moment. Then Loki disappeared in a shimmer of green. Syn stepped up to Jo. "Puffy white dress?" she asked skeptically.

"Maybe not puffy," she admitted. "White, though."

Syn nodded and titled her head. Then she held her hands out and swept them down Jo's front. In a shimmer of gold her dirty armor changed to a sleek white gown, sleeveless, with gold embroidery and cream lace. Syn beamed and gave a proud little nod, then tuned to Steve did a similar gesture, leaving him in a smart black tux.

She turned to the others. "Who's next?"

"Wow, I haven't worn a dress in I think a year," Anja said.

"Also," Steve said, "Jo needs a magnificent hat."

Syn made the rounds, giving everyone wedding appropriate outfits. As she did so, Loki appeared and disappeared a few times, delivering flowers and a banquet worth of food. Steve probably didn't want to know where that had come from.

They had everything set up, including a truly fantastic hat for Jo. She even had a bouquet of blue anemone.

"Wait!" Anja said, before they could take their place in front of the chaplain. They turned to look at her. "You need something borrowed and old. You know? Old, new, borrowed, blue? The dress is new, the flowers are blue. . ."

"Here." Nat reached behind her neck and unhooked a chain she wore. It had a little arrow dangling off of it. She clasped it around Jo's neck. "Borrowed."

Loki made a little noise and disappeared, then returned a moment later with a bundle of black and orange fur in his arms. "Two hundred years is old, yes?"

"Tyv!" Jo squeaked and reached for the cat, who promptly started purring and rubbing her shoulder.

Steve watched her hug and rock her cat, feeling a very suspicious lump in his throat. He'd kind of hoped Syn might be able to put some sort of dress on her and maybe conjure a bouquet. But they had literally made a wedding in the middle of a military camp. There even seemed to be flowers hanging from the ceiling. He had, truly, the most wonderful friends.

Jo settled the cat on her shoulder, supporting her with one arm and holding her bouquet with the other hand. She smiled at Steve, eyes watery. "Okay. Let's get married."

* * *

To be concluded in our next installment: _Ships, Quilts, Old Friends, and Cats_


	22. Ships, Quilts, Old Friends, and Cats

_Nantucket, Massachusets  
June, 1919_

Anja Barton hated boats.

She'd inherited a lot of things from her father that were good. Grace and balance. Astonishing eyesight. An ability to be still, and see the big picture. Some less so. A dominant left hand meant tools that didn't fit, sleeves full of ink, terrible penmanship, and many angry teachers. But the absolute worst had to be seasickness. When she finally climbed off the god-forsaken ferry on the little island where Steve and Jo made their home, it was all she could do not to kiss the ground. But this was a trip she made out of love. 

She hoped the long hike out to their house on the end of the island would settle her stomach, and her head.

She'd stayed in Europe after the war. After the Asgardian army had rounded up every last Badoon and taken them. . .wherever, there had turned out to still be a great deal of work to be done. Armies to be disassembled and refugees to be re-homed. She hadn't expected to be away this long. Two years ago things were just about stabilized—and then the Influenza came. She heard it had circled the globe. It had ripped through the crowded camps like the Black Death. She'd now seen enough death and misery to last a lifetime.

But now she was on this sunny, breezy island, breathing in the salty ocean air. Slowly, her shoulders relaxed and her stomach untwisted, especially as the neat gray-shingled house came into view, tucked among the dunes. It was a sweet little house, built by hand, with a thriving garden. Pink and blue flowers lined the front walk and spilled out of window boxes. As she reached the yard, she could hear the sound of conversation and laughter through the open door.

She stopped in the doorway and knocked on the jamb. "Hi," she said, almost shy.

The room was full of most of her family and friends. Her team. Every eye in the room was on her, and the conversation stopped. Then her mother launched herself out of her chair, and hugged Anja with a force that almost knocked her over. 

She held her tight, pressing her face into her hair and taking a deep breath of her scent. The last of her tension eased. "Hi, Mom."

Nat leaned back to look at her. "You look so grown up. I love your hair."

Anja reached up to touch the ends, where they just brushed the bottom of her ears. It had been a pain to take care of in the camps, and bobbed hair was a growing fashion trend, anyway. "It's all the rage in Paris."

Her mother moved, so her father could lift her off the ground for his hug. Next she hugged her brother—who was _taller_ than her. She hadn't seen them in two years now, and she'd missed them. Even Greg.

Steve and Jo were next. Steve hugged her fiercely and seemed speechless, just looking at her with a mix of pride and disbelief. Jo, the only one who'd met Anja as an adult, seemed more capable of conversation. "I'm so glad you could make it," she said after their hug. "We haven't broken out the liquor, but we have lemonade and cider and some mead I picked up in Norway."

"I've heard so many tales of the mysterious island hideaway, I couldn't resist the invitation. Lemonade would be lovely." She looked around, at the airy, open floor plan, so different from most other houses, the kitchen and dining room and parlor blending into one space. "Though it's description always leaned more. . shack. I couldn't imagine how you'd fit everyone in here."

Jo grinned. "You should have seen it a few years ago. When Steve first brought me here it was one room and we slept in a hammock. Now I swear he's planning on building Tyv her own room."

Anja laughed, and Jo went to get her lemonade. Anja went to make the rest of the rounds of greetings, like any family reunion. They were just her parents friends, coworkers even, but they were her family. Her aunts and uncles. She picked up Thor and Jane's little boy, who look the same as when she'd seen him last six years ago, still a chubby toddler. It startled her to remember they had been born only a month apart. 

She followed her father when he wandered out on the porch, where the white-haired-old man brigade was set up on the porch in a row of wooden chairs. Tony and Phil and her Dad, talking about fishing and having what looked like eleven mugs between them. She sat in the fourth chair, which they informed her was Bruce's.

"They're late," her father said. "He lives in San Francisco with Syn and Loki." She did know that. They quite frequently exchanged letters. The man knew more about disease control than any of the the actual doctors she worked with in Romania.

"I was wondering where they were," she said. They were the only ones missing.

Well, that wasn't true. There was someone else missing that she'd really, really hoped would be there.

"Loki is as much a diva as ever," Tony said. "I'm sure he's waiting to make a suitable entrance."

"Perhaps he'll arrive on an ice floe," Anja offered.

The men chuckled. "If it was a little hotter, that might be refreshing," Phil said.

"Your kids are coming back," her father said, nudging Tony. Anja followed his gaze and saw two figures walking up the shore. Even from this distance she could see Charlie's bright red hair.

She put her lemonade on the arm of the chair and stood, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, very aware she had an audience. She only went as far as the top of the porch steps, and she watched him.

His sister Bea was with him, each of them carrying a bucket. They didn't seem to be talking much, just strolling along the water. At one point, Bea pointed to the sand and Charlie crouched to dig a moment, then tossed something in his bucket. As they got closer, he looked up at the house and he spotted her. His steps faltered a little, then he grinned and lifted a hand to wave.

She waved back. He seemed to be growing a beard. She wasn't sure what she thought of it. His father had always had one, and they had a similar bone structure—but very different coloring. Her father had never had one, as her mother hated beards so much she'd seen him shaving with his straight razor on a moving train. (Safety razors, according to him, were for wimps.)

Charlie hurried the last few yards, leaving Bea behind. He reached the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch and stopped, looking up at her. "You kinda look like a girl I used to know," he said.

She smiled. "Only with less hair and less dirt on my face?"

"Something like that." He climbed the stairs in two long strides and, with a cautious glance at their fathers, hugged her tight. He leaned back and lifted her off the ground. She pressed her face into his neck, just like with her mother. Charlie smelled the same.

"I missed you," she mumbled into his shoulder..

He set her down to look at her. "It's been, God. . . four years?"

She looked up at him. It had actually been about eleven months. He'd gotten the flu in the summer of '18, and Loki had come to get her when things looked bad. It seemed to kill young, healthy people far more than the old or infant. Charlie's father had survived it, bad heart and all, and Charlie and two of his sisters had nearly died.

He'd been delirious, and no one had told him she'd been there. She wasn't sure what to make of that data point. Of course, she _had_ gone back to Romania before he woke up.

He flipped the end of her hair, making it swing. "What happened? Get lice?"

She had, in fact. Twice. It was a refugee camp. But she wasn't going to tell him that. "It's the newest French fashion. You auditioning to be a lumberjack?" 

His hand went to his jaw and rubbed. "I think it makes me look distinguished."

"I think it makes you look like you have mange," Bea said, coming up the steps behind him. She put her buckets down by the door. "Hi Anja, don't hug me. I'm sandy and damp."

Anja looked down at the buckets. "You got clams?"

"We did. Jo is going to steam them for supper. She said the fresher the better."

"Bea created an algorithm to determine where the greatest density of clams were and what percentage needed to stay in the ground for healthy repopulation," Charlie told her with a mix of pride and bafflement.

"Jo and Steve wouldn't forgive us if we depopulated their clams," his sister said primly.

There was a baby's shriek behind them, and they turned to see Syn, Loki and Bruce coming up the walk. Hela was bouncing and squealing, wiggling in Syn's arms like she wanted to be put down. When the path leveled, Syn set her down, held both her hands, and the baby took a few very unsteady steps. Anja put a hand over her mouth. "She's walking?"

"She's thinking about it," Loki said. "Mostly she falls a lot." He was carrying a large, wrapped object. From its dimensions she guessed it to be a painting. She went around Charlie and Bea and down the stairs so she could hug everyone.

Syn kissed her cheek and held her at arm's length, studying her intently. "You look really good," she told her, voice soft.

"I feel good," she said, the words surprising her. But Syn was touching her, so they had to be the truth.

The other woman nodded and patted her cheek affectionately. "That's my girl." She stepped away in time to catch Hela from toppling. "Let's go inside so she can start wrestling her cousin." 

She started to pick up her daughter but the toddler shrieked. "No! Buce!"

He responded to his summons, and picked her up. Clearly, Hela had taken a shine to him. He moved slowly, the oldest of the porch brigade, and the war had been hard on him. Anja hugged them both. "We saved you a chair."

"Thank you," he said, shifting Hela so he could sink into it, last in the line of men. The toddler tucked herself into his lap, thumb in her mouth. They all seemed content out there, so Anja retrieved her lemonade and followed the younger Starks into the house. 

Syn and Loki were making the rounds with hugs and hellos in there. Syn crouched to give Magni a kiss on the head and she and Jane started sharing exasperated mother stories.

"What is that?" Anja finally asked Loki, pointing at his package.

"It's a housewarming gift. This is a housewarming party. Banner said we had to bring a present."

Steve looked at the package skeptically. "It's usually flowers or food."

"When have I ever done anything the usual way?" He handed it to Jo. "Open it."

She glanced at Steve, then pulled the paper off to reveal a painting depicting a storm churned sea, with a man standing on a rocky shore, looking out at the dark water. Jo stared at it, face registering shock, then wonder. She shifted a hand, like she'd touch the paint, then thought better of it. She looked at Loki. "You remembered."

" _Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog_ ," he replied with a grin.

Steve cleared his throat. "How did you get it?"

"There's a perfect replica in its place. They'll never notice it's missing." When he said that, Jo closed her eyes and sighed. Loki laughed. "I _bought_ it. Everyone has a price, and I found its owner’s. And I left them with a nice copy so their friends don't have to know of their financial straits."

Jo went on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you." She turned and propped it above her mantle, then stepped back to admire it. "I have something for you," she added, giving him a mischievous smile.

He arched a brow. "Me? It's your housewarming."

"Yes. But I saw them and thought of you." She ducked into the pantry off the kitchen, then came back holding a wooden box a bit bigger then a hat box, and square. Anja could see green and black fabric inside and assumed it was one of Jo's quilts.

When she got closer, two fuzzy kitten heads peeked over the edge of the box, blinking sleepily. One gave a little chirruping meow, sounding almost curious.

Loki blinked. "Kittens?"

"Skogkatt kittens," she informed him. "Fresh from Norway. They're both girls, but getting the stone from Thor is your problem."

He ducked his head. "Thank you." He lifted the tiny balls of fluff out of the box and let them crawl all over them. Anja smiled, and wandered back outside. She sat on the porch steps, listening to the men shooting the breeze behind her. Down on the beach, Charlie was helping Thor dig the pit they would steam the clams in. Steve came out to join them, and she watched them argue about the proper size stone for optimum radiated heat. Charlie called his sister, and now the two of them were apparently drawing equations in the sand to support their point.

Her mother dropped onto the step beside her. "I wasn't sure if you'd come."

Anja lifted a shoulder. "Things had mostly calmed down. I got the invite from the Rogers and thought. . . it would be nice to see everyone. My family."

"You sailed," she replied.

She smiled. "Bartons suffer for their love."

"It's a lot of effort for a couple of days."

Subtle, Mom. Anja looked at her. "If you want to know if I'm staying, ask me. You don't need to use espionage."

"I didn't want to spook you." She was quiet a moment. "Are you?"

It had been her main thought the whole way home. Things had gone quiet in Europe. The flu had run itself out. The refugee camps were empty and what rebuilding was left was being handled by national governments. The wounds of war were, if not completely healed, scarred and scabbed over enough to no longer trouble people on a daily basis. And, perhaps more important, she finally wanted to come home. Immediately after the war the idea had filled her with dread. Now. . . she wanted to see what kind of man Greg had become and go shoot with her dad and have coffee with Mom. She wanted to be close when people got sick or had babies.

She wanted to be able to say goodbye when the men lining the porch started leaving for good.

"I think I am." She glanced at her mother. "Do you have any openings at work?"

* * *

The End

* * *

To be continued in our next tale; _The Lost Generation_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends our total revision of WWI. We hope you all enjoyed the ride.
> 
> We'll be returning on Wednesday with the third and final story of the series, _The Lost Generation_. Set during Prohibition, it's Charlie and Anja's story and also features one of Charlie's sisters, Bea, who was originally going to be a minor character but after one scene we knew she had to be more.
> 
> Lost Gen will post Wednesdays only while we finish it, but we have a good three months of buffer to do so.


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